


Les Liaisons dangereuses

by lori (zakhad), zakhad



Series: Faire de l'avenir un bon passé [1]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2018-09-23 09:31:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 69
Words: 306,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9649802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zakhad/pseuds/lori, https://archiveofourown.org/users/zakhad/pseuds/zakhad
Summary: To season one we go.Faire de l'avenir un bon passé = Making the Future a Good One





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Rolling the dice again, this time with "before they are close friends" but "after they are aboard the Enterprise." Starring the captain, the counselor, the jealous ex and the jealous former secret love interest. Also, the boy who ends up never being an ensign, Data is always just Data, Geordi the helm boy who isn't yet modern!Scotty, Worf the security Klingon, Yar the nearly-as-troubled-but-not-so-much security officer -- in other words, welcome to first season, where I generally spend very little time. 
> 
> Yes, I stole a movie title. But they aren't copyrightable. Not stealing the plot of the movie, either. 
> 
> Full impulse into the asteroid field, aye Captain.
> 
> Meanwhile, I have decided I have a muse monkey -- she doesn't like plot bunnies, she likes plot jackrabbits that bolt off into the bushes dragging her after them. I had most of the next chapter of Closing Doors done when this one leaped in front of the train and derailed it.

Picard added an instruction to secure the door on the way into his quarters -- the setting also blocked out non-emergency communications. It wasn't his habit to do so, unless he intended to do something for which he needed complete undisturbed privacy. He went into the bedroom and started to take off his uniform. He'd just discarded the shirt when the computer announced someone at the door, in the more direct manner he'd programmed it to do when secured, telling him that the counselor was requesting admittance.

Shrugging into a robe, he went back out, tying the sash as he watched the door slide open. "Something I can do for you, Counselor?"

Deanna hesitated just outside. She still wore the gray and lavender pantsuit she'd worn all day, so had obviously had a late appointment; it was a full two hours after the end of the shift. "I know we have an appointment early next week. But I wanted to see if you might want to have it sooner. You've been tense."

Picard smiled at her, firmly keeping himself in the moment and not distracted by her eyes, or her smile. "I'm not quite dressed for it, at the moment. In fact, I was thinking I might go to bed early. Because you're right, it's been a difficult day, and I'm tired."

He had the impression she was actively suppressing laughter. "I know, Captain. I meant first thing in the morning."

"That would be fine. Thank you, Counselor."

She nodded and backed out of the door, and it closed as she started off down the corridor.

It was, he reflected, interesting to have a Betazoid counselor. He'd never had a counselor at all, before. And he'd never worked with a Betazoid, though he'd met them from time to time. Riker had commented now and then about her -- said he'd known her before, long ago. Other things he had mentioned led Picard to think that Deanna Troi had more to her than what he had observed on duty so far. Also, his counseling sessions, and the times Troi had had to help him prepare for endeavors such as the brief meeting with the Jaradans, had helped him start to build a more well-informed idea of her.

Of course, when her mother had come aboard, that had been quite revealing as well. He'd watched her accept the commitment her mother had made on her behalf with sadness, but it was clear she respected her own traditions and would do her duty. Fortunately she had not been called upon to follow through. Wyatt Miller felt no such duty to Betazoid traditions, obviously.

The clash of Troi's family duty with her professional life reminded him of his own family, long ago left behind on Earth -- he hadn't spoken to Robert in years. He knew his brother had married at long last, and the last communication from them had been from Robert's wife Marie, in fact, informing him that he was an uncle. That he had not answered and felt some regret about it came to mind off and on, as years passed, but he resolutely set it aside as he had so many other things.

Over the past three and a half months he had been working with this new crew, none of whom he knew -- Beverly included, it had been years, and he felt awkward in her presence if conversation strayed from duty very far, part of that his reluctant continued attraction to her and the rest knowing how intentionally he had not had contact with her since Jack's death -- he had been trying to settle in. It wasn't the same as being aboard the _Stargazer_  and the long gap between vessels had not helped. It wasn't that it was difficult. He found the rhythm of working the regular shift and spending time in a good book or engaged in some enjoyable activity, fencing or riding or velocity with one of the officers, or just sitting and chatting with Guinan, quite to his liking. He understood that there would come a time perhaps when the senior officers became friends, who could work together with comradery as he'd experienced had on previous assignments. They just weren't quite there yet. And he had started to wonder if part of the reason it wasn't happening very quickly might be the differences between them. Previous senior staff had been human, Vulcan -- with Yar, a Klingon, an android, and a Betazoid empath in the mix, things could be interesting. None of them were typical Starfleet officers. 

By the time he had hung up the robe and taken off his boots and pants, he felt too drained to do any reading, so got in bed and turned off the lights with a clipped word to the computer. He sighed and tossed back and forth a few times. Residual tension kept him awake, however. So he removed the shorts he usually wore to bed and did as he had started to do when Troi had interrupted.

It was a very familiar, only semi-satisfying habit, taking himself in hand -- one that likely every officer had, thanks to ship duty and long separations from loved ones, or even anyone that an officer might feel safe with. Compromising working relationships with the rest of the crew was always a possibility, making shipboard romances both extremely intense and extremely risky. Masturbation scratched an itch -- it rid him of the tension. As he worked his hand faster and harder, started to pant, closed his eyes, the image of Troi's smile flashed across his mind. He came suddenly and slipped into a brief, guilty self-flagellation for it. 

But, it wasn't as though he'd done it on purpose. It was probably simply that she had been the last woman he'd seen. 

More guilt, at that thought. Because he knew it wasn't true. He had to admit to himself that it was becoming an issue, that he'd appreciated her beauty and warmth -- unusual characteristics to find in on-duty personnel. It didn't help that she was routinely out of uniform. He was not accustomed to having an officer who spoke to him about his own issues, either. Conversations with her were usually pleasant, and she didn't force him back to her agenda often, unlike the counselors he'd spoken to at Command after the court-martial. And it was perhaps more of an issue with Troi than usual because he suspected there might be something between her and Riker.

Perhaps this should be what he discussed with her in the morning.

But, likely it wouldn't be.

He awakened at his usual early time and left his quarters for the bridge, making his shower cold water, followed by a blast of the sonics to dry. And once in his ready room, he studied the night watch logs, and waited.

Deanna arrived about twenty minutes into the shift, looking as pretty and as calm as always, a pleasant smile in place. Today it was a brilliant blue dress, nearly regulation blue. "I'm sorry I was a little late," she said, as if it mattered. There was a faint disapproval in her tone. It occurred to him, suddenly, that she might have sensed his brief thoughts of her while he masturbated, perhaps she had understated her abilities, and for a moment he froze -- but caught himself and gathered his resolve to set aside that paranoia and settle in. He was the captain, in his ready room, after all.

"Everything all right, Counselor?"

"Oh," she replied, as if about to launch into an explanation, but redirected herself. "No, everything's fine. How are you?"

"I didn't sleep well. But that's hardly news." She had been attempting the counselor's approach to insomnia since Dr. Crusher had done all she could and had only sedatives left - while they were neither habit-forming nor the kind of drug that would put him into a stupor, he balked at doing anything that would have an impact if there were a crisis.

"You said that you often spend the time thinking about duty. Did you try anything I suggested?"

"Well, yes. The deep breathing, and the visualization. It was moderately successful, I think."

He was so focused on the composition of the answer, a carefully-told truth vague enough to get around the embarrassment of confessing that the visualization had not gone to her plan, that he didn't account for his own reaction to what he was saying. Fortunately, she didn't respond to his frustration and embarrassment, and the undercurrent of tension. She remained her usual composed self.

"Perhaps we might use neurofeedback," she said. "It's a way of increasing your ability to -- "

The chime interrupted them. And then she was leaving, yielding to the first officer, with a look at him that said he'd hear from her soon, as Riker came in and stepped over the back of a chair to drop into it and began to tell him about the things he'd learned about Omicron Theta. The survey would be thorough, it was a remote system that had formerly held a small colony of humans. It just so happened it was where Data had been found years before, by a small vessel, the _Tripoli_. The rest of the day, as the ship was en route to Omicron Theta, he spoke with the android at length, and did his own research. It would take a week to reach the system, and then they would take another week to complete the survey.

The following morning, after another night of restlessness and minimal sleep, Picard came to the bridge and started his routine. The coffee and croissant in hand, he went to the ready room desk and settled in for another slow day. When the chime went off, he admitted the guest without a thought.

Deanna swept into the room and sat in front of the desk. Another day, another dress with a plunging neckline he had to not look at.

He stared at her for a stunned moment. "Would you care for some coffee?" he said.

She blinked, and looked down. "I'm sorry, sir. I shouldn't have...."

"We were interrupted, yesterday. You were going to tell me about this thing, neurofeedback?"

Troi blinked again and met his gaze, wide-eyed. Then a smaller version of her usual warm smile. Guarded. "If you wish we can adjourn to my office. I can show you the device, how it works. And I think we're less likely to be interrupted there."

"After coffee?"

Her warm smile returned at that. "Yes. Cream and sugar, if you please."

"You know we're going to Omicron Theta," he said, heading to the replicator to get her coffee.

"Data and I talked about that yesterday afternoon," she replied. "He described to me how he was found there, and we talked for a while about everything that came after that."

He returned to place the cup in her hand. "I'm surprised you're telling me that."

"He didn't tell me in the context of counseling. We were in Ten Forward."

 "Ah. I see." He was bereft, for a moment, then thought of something else to say. Something safe and duty-related. "I was thinking -- it's been nearly four months, since this mission started. How are you feeling so far, about being a counselor aboard the _Enterprise?_  It's different than your prior posting, you said."

For a moment she stared at him over the rim of her cup with such dismay that he wondered if he had blundered. Then she recovered quickly, and smiled at him again. "I'm enjoying it, actually. It's challenging but I was ready for a challenge."

"I've been feeling unsettled, myself. Having an extended leave of absence between vessels has something to do with it, no doubt."

A concerned little wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows. He didn't like the way he felt about that; the first thought that popped into his head was that she was pretty even when she was confused. Not an officer's way of thinking.

"I hadn't thought you were having difficulty with that -- you seem to be doing well on duty."

"Of course. I'm focused on duty, on whatever task is at hand. It isn't impacting that aspect."

"You didn't mention this before," she said, faintly disapproving. "I have to wonder if this is related to the insomnia?"

"I've always had the insomnia, to varying degrees -- it almost wouldn't make sense not to have insomnia some of the time, as the captain and being always at the ready for battle or some other crisis of the moment." They had talked about that -- developing bad habits as a result of being a good officer. "But over the past few weeks, I have to admit that some of the time I find myself thinking about... well. Not thinking about duty. But about other things. I suppose it's part of the transition, back into Starfleet, re-evaluating my life and the choices I've made."

This was becoming problematic quickly. He hadn't intended to wind up talking about this. Troi took several stress-filled moments to think about it, sipping her coffee.

"I realize that you shy away from telling me everything," she said at last. Was that actually defeat in her voice? "I understand why. And I want you to know that I want to respect your privacy -- I only want to help you, and perhaps it's unfortunate that I can tell when you haven't been sleeping and that you're stressed about something, because it -- " Her gaze fell, and her eyelids dropped, hiding her dismay? frustration? from him. "Ongoing stress and emotional turmoil has a cumulative impact on your performance on duty. And it's easier to prevent real issues, than to fix them after they are issues. But I can't address things that you won't tell me about."

It brought him to where he had expected to end up eventually. Wondering if this was that moment when he would have to tell all. He sighed, and placed the cooling coffee on the corner of his desk. "I have been attempting to ignore feelings that have become inconvenient."

That sent her into another few moments of serious thought. "Feelings you do not wish to have for some reason?"

"I have very little reason to encourage an attraction to someone who is already... I suppose I don't know whether she is or not, but I have a strong suspicion. It's not likely that she returns my feelings, either."

"I see. And I would suppose the very act of discussing it with her might have an unwanted impact upon your professional relationship with her."

She wasn't looking at him. Her lack of emotional response was provoking a great deal of anxiety for him. He wasn't certain what he wanted anymore, and then he was -- the idea that she might actually return his feelings suddenly flooded him with anticipation. 

"You asked me if I would be staying aboard, after marrying Wyatt," she began. "I wanted to, because I enjoy my work here. That I have enjoyed being aboard was not what I predicted. I anticipated, when Will came aboard and informed me that we would be working together and nothing more than friends, that I wouldn't be able to stay. It would be too uncomfortable, I decided, but before I found another posting I discovered that it was easier than I thought it would be to be his friend. That things were not as I imagined they would be. I enjoy the friends I have now. I enjoy working with my clients."

He had the sense she was heading to something, with all of this, so when she paused he said nothing, waited for her to continue. She didn't disappoint.

"When I announced that I would be marrying Wyatt, Will was upset. I was dismayed that he was so -- it was as though he hadn't decided that we were keeping a more professional relationship at all. I was upset that he couldn't continue to be my friend, if I married. It suggested that either I wasn't reading him correctly, or that he was expecting that we would someday start all over again and he was frustrated that wouldn't be a possibility -- I don't know what's more disturbing to me. It forces me to step back and reconsider how I react to things I sense from people around me."

She raised her eyes at last to meet his gaze. Now he didn't have anything to say -- words completely failed him, at this point.

"I suppose I'm telling you this primarily because I'm uncertain as to what you believe about my abilities, or what I might think based on my impressions of your emotional state," she said carefully. "I don't want a misunderstanding to interfere with our relationship."

His heart lurched at that statement. Troi continued to stare with very little emotion visible in her face -- if anything he would suppose she was shocked.

"Whatever relationship you decide that we have," she added, after a moment of silence. "I cannot be effective in any aspect, professional or therapeutic, or personal, without your having a basic understanding of how I am perceiving you -- sometimes I think you are holding back because you don't want me to know something. Other times I wonder if it's because you think that I do and find that embarrassing. It's been an impediment to my ability to help you, I think, that you are refusing to be candid."

It took a little time to reach the conclusion that she was walking a fence and giving him choices; he had to settle down and think it through. "You sense far more than you reveal, of that I've always been certain. But it wasn't obvious to me that you questioned what you sensed -- that you were sometimes uncertain how to interpret it."

Troi seemed to settle somewhat, her shoulders drooping slightly. She nodded. "It occurs to me that you might find therapy with Dr. Michetti to be more effective. That perhaps the uncertainty of what I sense, or not, and how I interpret what I sense, is in fact what interferes with treatment. I think it would be irresponsible of me to continue to attempt addressing things with you, or with any client for that matter, when you are being stressed by the uncertainty of what I'm assuming, or not assuming, about you."

It took him aback. "Are you saying... that you think you shouldn't be my counselor?"

"I'm saying that if it would be easier for you to be in treatment with Dr. Michetti that you should switch. That's your choice to make. If you think that we should continue to work together as client and therapist, we can discuss how that might best be handled -- I can try to help you to sleep better, and you can help me do that by explaining what you've left out -- the best assumption that I can make at this point is that you are conflicted and unsure of what to tell me, because there will be a predictable consequence to that revelation. At this time, all I can do is give you information that I hope will help you resolve the conflict, so that you can make the choice of whether or not to reveal what you have kept to yourself."

Picard gazed at her for a long stretch of rapid heartbeats, and tried to form a sentence. "I think... I should think about this. But I'm not certain that I would feel comfortable talking to her, either. For quite different reasons."

Troi's amused, affectionate smile had an unexpected effect on him. Her surprised blink caught him before he could speak again. She cleared her throat, and glanced down at her cup then placed it on the desk. "All right. I'll just leave you to do that -- I'll be in my office. I have a few appointments today."

She was at the door and gone before he realized he had, instead of dismissing her, simply watched her walk out of the ready room. Picard closed his eyes. What kind of merry hell it was, being caught up in this again. Decades of repeatedly noticing, hoping, even falling for women, back and forth between thinking it might work and deciding that it wouldn't, being defensive or worried or excited -- what was it all for, what good was it?

It started to sink in later, after he went back to reports and rosters and working through his messages, that nothing she had said had closed a door on any option. Except for one -- he couldn't be silent any longer. 

He was still laughing when the annunciator went off. "Come," he sang out, sitting back, letting his hands fall away from his head, which he'd been holding in incredulous disbelief at his situation. 

"You've been quiet today," Will said as he came across the ready room. "Everything all right?"

Picard found himself chuckling at his first officer, giving his head a shake, almost rolling his eyes. "A matter of debate, Number One."

"Something I can do?"

It was interesting how Will could manage to make that professional, but still layer in that friendly concern. "No, but thank you."

"I guess counseling isn't the solution to everything." 

Picard looked up at Will with mild curiosity -- it was an odd statement. 

"She keeps telling me I should talk to Dr. Michetti," he added. "If I need to talk. Which makes me think that she thinks I should, for some reason."

Picard smiled at him. "She's the ship's counselor. Maybe she's right?"

Will laughed at it as he dropped into a chair, as if it was funny. "I think she was teasing me."

"She was?"

"You know how she can be." He glanced at Picard as he gestured with a hand dismissively, then did a slight double-take. "Or maybe you don't -- she hasn't really let down her guard with you, I think."

Picard leaned back in his chair. "I would expect not."

"I realize that it hasn't been your style, to spend time with the crew. But I think it makes them more hypervigilant when they notice small changes in your demeanor," Will said. "Tasha just asked if you were all right, because you hadn't been on the bridge at all today yet. At least from her perspective. She wasn't yet on the bridge when you arrived."

"I should be concerned that she was concerned, for no reason," Picard summarized.

Will sobered, sitting up slightly. "I'm trying to be aware of things that have an impact on morale."

"I think we might not be agreeing on what impacts morale. Anyone can ask the computer where I am. It's not a secret that I sometimes spend time elsewhere, when we are en route to the next mission."

Will spent a few moments thinking; his smile had gone, and he appeared to be examining the front of the desk.

"It occurred to me today that we're nearly four months into the mission. How are you feeling about this posting, so far?"

It brought the bright blue eyes up to meet his -- he'd startled Will. "Good. It's a good ship, we have good crew. Everything we've faced, it's been challenging but we've been up to the task. I'm looking forward to the next... nine years and eight months."

"Some of us may be here that long, I suppose. I expect you'll be offered your own vessel before long -- you were Bob's first officer for quite a while, as well."

For some reason that made Will chew on the inside of his cheek and look away again. "I'm not sure about that."

"You have a reason for wanting to stay aboard?" Picard thought about what Troi had said, and Riker's manner during the short span that the Millers had been aboard. 

"I'm not sure I'm ready for a ship of my own. Which sounds bad, but it isn't about being in command, I don't have a problem with that -- I just find myself liking what we have here and now, more so the longer I'm aboard."

"I agree that it's a fine vessel. A fine crew. Very diverse, even more so than I've seen before. We have the best that Starfleet has to offer."

Riker's brows drew together. "But?"

"Perhaps four months is not long enough to feel settled, for me."

Riker tilted his head thoughtfully. "You were on an extended leave of absence. I admit that I've wondered, but hesitate to ask."

"I did a number of things, but nothing of such interest that I remained, clearly. But even this grand adventure, being aboard the _Enterprise_ , hasn't given me the sense of... I suppose I would have to call it fulfillment. Satisfaction. I returned to Starfleet to find something I had before, but it's eluding me."

Riker's smirk told him that the moment of serious reflection was over. "So you need counseling."

"Or I need to contemplate the results of counseling, before my next session. If you don't mind."

"Say no more." Riker left him there without a backward glance.

Picard decided he needed a cup of tea, and once fortified thusly, settled back in his chair.

He thought about the conversation with Troi, and what she had not said, so carefully. It was easy to tell she neither wanted to affect his relationship with his first officer, nor to bias him in any way in the matter of whether or not to continue as her client. She was being as careful as she could not to influence either of their careers in any way, yet. The instant it became about the two of them, it would be either in or out -- either they were together, or one of them was off the ship. It was a very slim chance that they would be able to work together after a breakup. But she had put forth the scenario of herself, being surprised to find she could work with Riker -- perhaps that was an indicator of how she felt about the chances of working with him, in the event that this went only so far and ended.

And then there was the obvious way she had concluded that she could be open with him. She must have developed a good hunch about his feelings that allowed her to even approach the matter, even as obliquely as she had.

Picard left the ready room. He paused for a moment to snap out, "you have the bridge, Number One," before cruising up to the lift; he glanced at Yar as he strode in. The short ride to deck two took no time at all.

The panel outside Troi's office glowed green. He tapped it, and the door opened. Her eyes as they came up from her monitor were not surprised. He stood at the end of her desk for a few moments, searching for words that he had had just a moment ago, but they appeared to have escaped him again as he looked at her sitting there waiting with her hands in her lap.

"I'll make an appointment with Dr. Michetti, for next week," he said at last.

He was rewarded with a relieved smile -- a happy, pleased grin the likes of which he had not seen her with, until now. But as quickly as it blossomed, it waned again, and she looked away -- he thought he understood why. Too many possibilities -- he had only confirmed part of one.

"Would you care to meet me on the holodeck after alpha shift today?"

Troi kept looking at the floor on her left, but the smile had started again, he could tell from the upturned corner of her mouth. Then she raised her eyes to his and blinked back moisture. "Yes."

"No guarantees that I'll like Michetti," he added, waving a finger in warning. "But I would suppose that to be beside the point. Since it's more about who I like, than it is about anyone else."

That resulted in a slow blink, and a subtle shift of expression. The warm steady glow in her eyes almost took his breath away. But after a moment of rapt silence, she said, "I understand. Thank you, sir."

The honorific shook him out of the moment. He nodded and took flight, at a steady and confident clip, heading for the lift again. Once inside, he debated, and asked for his quarters. He'd left the bridge to Riker. He had a date on the holodeck. And now, having jumped in, both feet, he had no real idea of what he would do with her once he got her there.

What merry hell.


	2. Chapter 2

Picard had a list of holodeck programs up on his monitor when the annunciator went off. "Come in," he called out, rising and stepping away from the desk.

Dr. Crusher came in, wearing her usual lab coat over her uniform. With her hair down around her shoulders and a smile, she reminded him of the early days with Jack. "Have a minute?"

"Certainly. Would you like anything?"

She went to sit uneasily on the edge of the couch. "No, thanks. I've had too much coffee today already."

"What can I do for you?" he asked, going to sit at the other end of the couch and taking a relaxed stance with his legs crossed.

"It's quiet in sickbay, and generally all over the ship, and so I thought I would stop in -- there's something I've been meaning to talk to you about, but it's never seemed to be the right time."

It was certainly a day for unlikely conversations, he thought. "All right," he said, uncertain and watching her with a dubious smile.

She almost winced, trying to smile and unable to maintain eye contact, her fingers finding each other as if she couldn't stop fidgeting otherwise. "I was actually hoping... I knew it wasn't necessarily what you would want to do. But I hoped, before we came aboard, that you might spend time with Wes."

That was a stunning development. Picard thought about the boy he'd seen only a few times in passing over the past few months. "You know I'm not good with children."

"I know you say that a lot," she replied. "I know you think it's true. I don't think it's right. I think you don't want to bother with children, or any other relationship or person you find anxiety-provoking. He's not a child, exactly, he's a young man and the son of your best friend. He looks up to you. I'm afraid I might have... I had hoped when I got this posting that you and I could be friends again. I didn't expect it, but I thought it might happen, because I considered you a friend before -- Jack talked about you half the time when he talked to me over subspace, actually. And I said something to Wesley about hoping he'd be able to get to know you better, so you could tell him about his father from your perspective. It's what most people would do for the son of a deceased friend."

Picard frowned, thinking about the times Jack had bragged about the baby boy, the toddler, showing off videos and pictures, and how awkward that had been -- his life had never included children in any way. His focus had been near-absolute, right up until the destruction of the _Stargazer_ \-- his life had frayed at the edges then. His crew scattered to the winds, transferring, except for those who had died. Jack was gone. He was left to pick up the pieces and find himself again. Something that sounded so simple to do, but continued to bother him.

He realized he'd wandered off into thought, then. She was looking at him expectantly. "I agree, I don't feel comfortable with children. But that's why I am no good with them."

Beverly was shaking her head and giving him that incredulous smile. "He's not going to laugh at you, Jean-Luc."

"That isn't what -- Beverly, honestly."

"You don't like people who won't be predictable. Which is funny, for someone who deals with aliens for a living."

He glared at her.

"You didn't like Deanna's mother because she saw how to push your buttons the instant she came aboard," Beverly exclaimed. "I'm surprised you tolerate Deanna as a counselor. I'm sure she knows all about -- Jean-Luc," she blurted, leaning forward. "What is it?"

Picard looked away, not liking that something had shown in his face. This was why he hated bringing up anything personal with crew.

"What's happened? Did something happen with Deanna?" She waited, watching his face, as if trying to pull thoughts from his head by sheer determination.

"Everything's fine."

"It doesn't look fine from where I'm sitting. You're upset."

"I'm tired, Beverly."

Beverly nodded. "I can see that. You are still in counseling, I hope. You should be, at least about the insomnia and then I hope she can help you with this phobia about kids, because I think you would enjoy getting to know Wes. You'd like him, Jean-Luc, he's _Jack's son_ and I swear it's heartbreaking some days when I turn and find him smiling and looking so much like his father."

"You're right," he said, taking the easy way out. "He's Jack's son. I have the time -- we won't be in Omicron Theta for another few days. I'll meet with him after school tomorrow. Have him come up to the ready room. He'd enjoy that."

Now she was staring at him as if he'd suddenly turned into Q. After a few moments she asked, "Are you sure you're feeling all right, Jean-Luc? That it's not more than just tired?"

"I'm not quite myself today, I suppose. I've had a lot to think about."

She had the doctor's eye about her, as she studied him and considered his words. "Is there anything I can do? I know you have a counselor but sometimes it helps to talk to a friend."

It occurred to him that if he did start to talk, she would do as anyone did and ask more questions, and find out about Deanna.  He knew she would eventually find out about the change of counselor, as the CMO was the supervisor of both medical and counseling departments in any Starfleet facility. But he had a working relationship with her, and he was also her patient when he was in need of medical care. It felt too overwhelming to tackle this conversation on the same day he was attempting to work out a wholly different relationship with another officer. So even though he knew he would have to have a conversation about it with certain officers, he opted out of having it today, when he didn't even have answers to some of the questions that would be asked.

"I appreciate that, Beverly. But I'm in the middle of something -- can we talk some other time?"

Beverly had that sharp look of appraisal that set him on edge. But she nodded. "You're serious about Wes, though? If I tell him I don't want you to disappoint him by canceling."

"I have no control over red alerts, but I won't cancel -- that's the best I can do."

"All right. Thank you." Her smile was fond and a little sad. "You know, I -- never mind. Later. I'll talk to you later. Thank you."

After she left, Picard started to wonder what that last hesitance could have been about. But it was immaterial. He returned to shopping holodeck programs with a will.

A quiet tone from the computer roused him from his altering a program that he thought would be suitable, telling him it was the end of the shift. He checked in with the bridge and found everything perfectly normal at the end of the watch, and was informed Data would have the next watch with Lieutenant LaForge at the helm. No news was good news. 

He almost walked out in uniform, but took a moment to change into civilian clothing -- it was a rarity to do that while aboard as things sometimes happened while in the holodeck. But he put on a different shirt, a white button-down with sleeves that he rolled up as he left his quarters.

Deanna's quarters were halfway between his door and the lift. As he approached her door it opened, and she stepped out, and he stopped in the middle of the corridor, almost rigid with shock. It wasn't that he had expected anything -- it was that she looked at him with a happy smile, her hair no longer tied up on the crown of her head, her dress no longer the kind she wore during the day -- it must be silk, in opalescent pink and somewhere between form-fitting yet with a gather at each shoulder and enough in the skirt to flutter as she walked. In a turnabout of necklines, the front was up around the base of her throat while the back had a keyhole-shaped cutout that revealed the likelihood of her wearing a brassiere as slim to none.

"I wasn't certain what you had planned, but you appear to approve," she commented in a low voice. 

He smiled, tried to convince his feet to move, gestured at the lift -- at his speechlessness, she developed a dimple and led the way. That was enough to persuade his body to follow as she strolled away from him and he was compelled to maintain an optimum vantage point. He recovered somewhat in the lift; it was dismaying that he'd reacted with such immediate physicality to her. She stood apart from him slightly and seemed to be thinking, or perhaps meditating, with her eyes focused on some point midair, between the door and where he stood. 

"It would be understandable, if you had second thoughts," she said quietly.

"It wouldn't be out of character, actually. But for some reason, I am not myself today. And people are noticing it."

She did look at him, at that. "What do you mean?"

"Will commented that I hadn't been on the bridge. Tasha noticed that. And Beverly came by, to ask me to spend time with Wes, and asked if I'm all right. I don't know -- it's odd, the things that have been coming to mind today."

"I wonder what that could be about?" 

"I suppose I might be coming down with something," he commented, trying not to react much to the knowing smile she had as she went sly-eyed and sidled ever-so-slightly closer to him.

They left the lift and went sedately down the corridor to the closest holodeck, and went inside. Once the doors were closed he made sure they were sealed and brought up his program. The yellow-on-black grid vanished, and was replaced by the redwood forests he had chosen. Deanna stood in the small clearing on the narrow paved path and gaped up at the red boles of the tallest trees on Earth. 

"Where are we?" She turned in place, taking it all in. They were surrounded by mossy logs and rocks, among the broad trunks of the redwoods. There was a bench behind them. She did as he expected, went to it and sat, and he followed suit.

"This is Muir Woods. It's not far from San Francisco."

"If I were Freudian I could make quite an assumption." 

He guffawed almost out of shock, and laughed -- the flippant remark came out of nowhere from his perspective. And then it struck him that this was her way of signaling that she was out of officer mode, and that made him happier than he'd expected.

"This was a quiet place to come and get away from the chaos for a while, when I was at the Academy. Now you're going to say I was looking up to these trees in a more symbolic manner?"

"I could suppose an inferiority complex from that, you know." She smirked and watched a white butterfly flutter through a patch of sunlight, and land on a fern. "It's a beautiful place. We don't have trees like this on Betazed. What made you think of it?"

"I thought it likely you hadn't been here before. I thought it might be nice to start here, anyway -- it's a quiet place to sit and talk."

"It is that." She clasped her hands in her lap and turned to him, even angling toward him on the edge of the bench. "You probably want to talk about parameters."

Picard blinked -- he hadn't thought about it that way, but it had been one of the things he knew should be discussed sooner than later. "I would prefer not to, but it might be better now than later. I already ran into some internal conflict just in the two conversations I had today, with Will and Beverly."

It was disturbing to see the way she cast down her eyes and turned sad. "I'm torn between telling you what I know and letting things unfold as they will, and simply making suggestions. Will isn't going to like any suggestion that I am with anyone. I don't really care, other than the effect it will have on my working relationship with him. And I'm concerned about the effect it will have on yours."

"I understand your perspective. But from mine, I care only that they are doing their jobs to the best of their ability. That's what the captain needs from them. If they give me friendship that is a positive for both of us but it's an option, not a requirement, and if negative feelings develop and are clearly influencing their work, it gives me a reason to recommend a transfer. It's not my responsibility to make them happy."

She leaned back slightly, gaping at the thought of not focusing on relationships. "You're right," she said at last.

He leaned back on the bench, spreading his hands. "I'm always right. The captain is always right."

"Except when he isn't," she said, head tilting left. The sly look was back.

"We don't talk about that," he exclaimed, grinning. She knew when he was joking.

"Since neither Will nor Beverly would be able to see me for counseling, there is no conflict in that way, either. So I am forced to concede to your opinion that we have no need to do anything to address it with them, unless there is a problem."

"Concede? Were we arguing?"

Deanna gave him an intense, steady look that said he might find himself in an argument with her at some point. Which he found appealing. She started to smile, and it occurred to him that was her reaction to what she was sensing from him. He matched the smile and for a moment they sat silently gazing at each other, and he found himself wondering if he were imagining that he could feel her, in a manner similar to how she sensed him. And she broke the moment by looking down at the stone bench between them.

"Everyone assumes I am only able to sense emotions," she said.

"You don't do anything to contradict that."

"No, I don't. But Betazoid telepaths project thoughts as well as receive them. I can project emotions. Sometimes I can be telepathic, with someone I know very well. I don't tell everyone that."

"So you would be able to share your feelings with me directly?"

"What do you think about that?"

"I think you might be asking if I'm accepting of it. Perhaps I need to experience it to understand it?"

She studied him with some intensity, for a few seconds. "Have you experienced telepathic exchanges before?"

"I've been in a mind meld. Never had a similar experience with other species, unless you count your mother?"

Deanna rolled her eyes. "She loves to pretend. But no, that doesn't count." She held out her hand.

He looked at her palm and the tips of her manicured red nails, and took her hand in his. It was as though it completed a connection. A tickling, then flood of feelings coursed through him, and to his surprise it was similar in composition to his own. In a blink it was over, and he sighed audibly.

"You aren't the only one who lies awake at night," she said. While he'd been occupied sorting through her feelings, she must have slid closer to him along the bench, and now held his hand more comfortably than before with their arms parallel. 

"No?" He considered it -- he'd actually thought about it before, how difficult it would be, being an empath on a starship. "I had assumed you were able to block out the emotions of others."

"If I want to, I can manage to partially screen or block. I haven't wanted to, in your case. For a few weeks."

The possibilities were sobering. She had closed her eyes, and sat facing forward with bowed head.

"I'm sorry," he said, thinking about the dream he'd had about her a couple of nights before.

"No need. I waited for you to talk to me about it. But then I thought that perhaps you might not, that you might think that I wouldn't reciprocate your feelings."

"I'm glad you confronted me, then. I honestly could not see how it might be possible. I'm not what you could call Starfleet's most eligible bachelor. The oldest, perhaps." He glanced at her as he spoke, and saw that she had turned to glare at him.

"You agreed that we should talk about parameters. Then we started to talk about other things. What parameters should there be?"

"I had thought you would have more input, being the counselor."

"I think you have more, because you are the captain -- you've already demonstrated that I think about things as a counselor would. And I'm not so experienced in being an officer, in a way, because I've not been treated as one before. In my prior postings I was never expected to be on the bridge very much."

That revised his opinion of her previous commanding officers. He wondered too if she weren't sidling around the implication that he was much more experienced in such matters by dint of being much older. Rather than addressing that he thought about the question of parameters. 

"I'm less concerned about specific people than about general morale. You know well enough that I am a private man, and that I keep most of my off duty life out of the public eye. On the one hand, I do not wish to imply that your company is embarrassing to me -- on the other -- "

"You would rather keep it to yourself," she finished for him. "I do, too. For other reasons. Counselors keep their lives private. It's hard to do, on a ship. You keep to yourself so much that you might not have noticed that I'm generally in the company of one of a very few people, in Ten Forward, on the occasions that I actually go."

"I intend for the senior officers to know about us, as time passes. I don't think making deliberate efforts to have a clandestine relationship is right, either. But I know that it will take a little time to understand each other, first. That doesn't need to be anything they know about."

"Because if we decided it wouldn't work, that would cause the least turmoil."

Picard turned to her again, not liking her tone, and sighed. Letting go of her hand, he raised his arm and drew her into an embrace. She reciprocated immediately. The tickling sensation returned and then she was sharing her feelings again, which was difficult this time. She was almost fearful, and he almost asked what it was -- but he thought he understood.

"It's uncertain, how far it will go. But I am certain that we'll survive it, whatever it will be, and be friends," he murmured.

"I hope so, too," she mumbled against his shoulder. 

They sat for a while in each other's arms, and because she let him he got to experience directly the process of Deanna settling her own uncertainties and anxieties until she happily leaned against him. As she sat up and away from him, he realized he felt the same calm, enjoyable peace as she. 

"Is that what you were going to teach me?" he asked. "How to calm it all away and relax."

"Yes. I can still teach you."

Picard grinned. "I can think of a few things I'd like to learn from you."

"I like chocolate," she said with a matching grin.

"That wasn't exactly what I had in mind -- that falls into the obvious."

Deanna let her head fall on his shoulder and seemed quite relaxed, her legs crossed at the knees and her foot swinging idly, the high-heeled sandal she wore dangling and swinging from her toes. "You would like to know something less obvious?"

"You don't wear perfume on duty. Is this your favorite?"

The foot stilled, and he felt her head move slightly against his shirt. "Yes. I did not expect that question."

"So much of my life has been unexpected. Some of those unexpected things have made me very happy."

"I didn't expect you to choose me," she said as he put his arm across her shoulders. "I'm glad you did."

Picard thought about that and made a guess. "You were afraid I would do as I've always done, prioritize my career. But I'm not what I was, before. We've talked about what happened with the _Stargazer_ , after the encounter with Bok. I don't believe that I told you how determined I was. How right and true it felt, being an officer -- how much that resonated with me. I haven't been able to feel that way again, since the court-martial."

She pressed herself against him, enjoying that contact with him. "You enjoyed it before. You're not as comfortable here, yet. It doesn't mean that you won't be."

"It may be obvious and redundant to say it but life is about growth and change. I think I lived for a long time in a very restrictive trajectory, not allowing myself to consider other options. I thought that it was impossible to have the kind of Starfleet career I wanted and have anything -- anyone else, at least not a long term arrangement."

"What's changing your thinking?"

Picard chuckled at it, thinking about Beverly. "Jack would be happy. Also stressed, worried about his wife, his child. But he would still be happy. He would wish that they could join him on the ship, so he could spend more time with him. When I came aboard the  _Enterprise_ I was alarmed by having families on my vessel because it seemed to me that was a risk we shouldn't take, with children."

"But?" she prompted. None of this was surprising her.

"I think you were right, when you suggested I was taking exception to it on a more personal level."

A soft laugh from her at that. "You argued your case quite articulately at the time."

"But I thought about it later -- that's part of what keeps me awake, at night, kicking my thoughts around until something makes sense. I'm not generally so emotional about things that Starfleet decides. Which was something else you said -- Deanna?"

She pulled away slightly to look him in the eye, and she let him continue to listen in on her emotions as she smiled and felt amusement at this turn of events. "I think I was wrong, about you. It felt like the arguing meant resistance. I should have realized that you're that stubborn and the pushback was just how you operate."

He snorted at that. "I told you I'm always right. Until I decide I'm not."

"You are a lovely man," she murmured.

Picard gazed at her face, hovering inches from his, and it wasn't difficult at all to let himself be this close and want to kiss her -- something about this felt right. Perhaps because she wasn't insisting on romance without consideration for the rest of his life, as some women had done. But of course that would be unlikely, given that her duty was to be sure he was able to do his duty, and she was one of the more rational women he'd met.

He realized he was leaning when she began to do so as well, and as their lips met his hand came up to her cheek -- and the familiar chirrup of the computer announcing a communication incoming sent both of them swaying apart and coming to attention, startled.

"Riker to Troi," came the first officer's confident, almost joyful voice.

She wasn't happy -- almost rolled her eyes, frowned, but she answered calmly and pleasantly. "Troi, here."

"I was wondering if you wanted to catch some dinner in Ten Forward -- we could get a jump on the first round of performance reviews."

"Can we meet tomorrow? I'm busy, at the moment."

From the moment of silence Picard assumed that was not the answer expected. "Sure. Lunch?"

"That sounds perfect. I'll see you then. Troi out." After the chirp of the closing channel, she smiled ruefully. "Sorry."

"I'll forgive you if you'll forgive me for the endless stream of interruptions that tend to -- "

Another double chirp. "Riker to Picard."

He almost grinned at that. "Picard here."

"Are you up for a round of velocity?"

"Actually, no. I'm in the middle of something -- we could meet tomorrow afternoon, if everything continues as it has been. Does that suit your schedule?"

"Yes -- around fourteen hundred?"

"Yes. See you in the morning, Number One."

"Have a good evening, sir. Riker out."

Picard met her eyes and both of them smiled. She shrugged a little. "Do you want to talk to him, or should I? I think of all people he would be the one who most needs to know. He'll be upset if he finds out by happenstance, for several reasons; he considers you a good friend -- both of us, in fact."

"I'll talk to him," he said at once.

She smiled, nodding, looking down and away. "Are we going to have dinner?"

Taking her hand, he stood, and she joined him on her feet. "Computer, load the second simulation."

The shift of the program around them was disorienting. She grabbed his arm, and he pulled her into his arms as the scene changed within seconds to a table set for two, in front of a wide window overlooking the lights of a city at night. There was a full moon backlighting clouds in the night sky. Deanna stood looking at the moon, then at the table, then at the metal girders sloping down outside the window.

"Where are we now?"

"Le Jules Verne is a restaurant in the Eiffel Tower, in Paris."

The expression on her face rivaled the one she'd had when he had come to tell her he would be switching counselors. She looked around -- the room was empty of even holodeck characters, as he'd specified. After a few moments of speechlessness she said, "You're setting the bar quite high -- this is going to be interesting."

He laughed at it, and took a step back to pull out a chair for her. "I was thinking this might meet your standards, not about setting the bar. But perhaps I have my work cut out for me?"

"Hm, perhaps." She sat down, and watched him settle in the chair opposite. "So what are we having?"

"Do you trust me to order for you?"

"I do. I assume the food will match the locale -- I've never had French food."

He ordered directly from the computer, and two plates materialized along with glasses of wine. She tried the sole, the wine, and smiled -- she was happy, and enjoying this. They ate for a while in silence but she was leaving herself connected emotionally, and it was like having a conversation without words. He wondered if this was the way it would always be.

"You enjoy being on a more equal footing with me," she commented, laying down her fork after finishing the last bite of her food. The plate vanished, startling her, and was replaced by a piece of chocolate cake. She stared at it for a moment.

"Does it require a lot of effort to maintain this two-way connection?"

"It's a minimal effort. I think this is probably one of the more decadent chocolate confections I've tasted, it's wonderful."

"I'm glad you like it. The wine should go well with it."

She carved off another tiny bite, clearly prolonging her experience. "What are you going to tell Beverly?"

Picard looked up from his own dessert choice, a small chocolate-almond torte. He let his confusion speak for itself. When her eyes swept up to meet his, as she put a bit of cake in her mouth, she was quite sober and concerned.

"I think you had feelings for her, before," she said in that gentle way she had, all the times she'd confronted him with an unpleasant truth as a counselor. "And it's probably not escaped your notice that she is attracted to you. I know you consider her a friend. That you're concerned about her."

"All true enough," he replied reluctantly. And then he remembered his conversation with the doctor earlier, and sighed. There had been the near-incident with her some weeks ago, when the _Enterprise_ had encountered the polywater and everyone's inhibitions had been abandoned. He hadn't told the counselor about it. Nor had Beverly attempted to discuss it with him, though he was certain from her discomfort in his presence for a couple of weeks following the incident that she remembered it.

"I understand your point, about duty, and their happiness not being your responsibility. But they are our friends. Which is why I still intend to talk to Will, after you do. And to Beverly."

He smiled at that. "I wasn't this patient before, you know."

"I know. People go to great lengths when they want something badly enough, though."

"Oh, yes. I know."

She put her fork down, but half the cake remained. "I'm quite full. Was there anything else you have planned for us tonight?"

"I do not have a specific plan, no. Is there anything you'd like to do?"

Her eyes were bright, as she smiled at him across the table. It was a tense moment -- she wasn't sharing her feelings any more, he was left only with his own for the span of several dozen heartbeats. "I should probably return to my quarters, as should you. The question of what I would like to do can only be answered honestly if we're moving at warp ten."

"Oh, well," he exclaimed, slumping a little in his chair. "We should have finished the conversation about parameters."

"We could do that. Decide we should continue at warp five, perhaps. It certainly seems that we've taken it quite seriously -- discussing how to tell people."

"I'm not going to get any sleep tonight, you know."

She softened somewhat at that, and averted her gaze, a sly smile teasing him.

"I suppose, if we're to respect the parameters, I can't walk you to your door?"

"It would probably be best."

He got up from the table and watched her do the same. She came to him and surprised him by brushing her lips across his, her hands flat on his chest. He pressed his mouth to hers and before he knew it, they were caught up in an intense kiss, and his hands found her hips, slid up her body and around her, and then he held her close against him with her cheek to his shoulder.

"Good night," she murmured.

"We should take advantage of whatever time we have between missions," he whispered. "Tomorrow evening?"

"I appreciate the practicality. I'll see you tomorrow." She smiled at him as she backed away, and called for the arch. He watched her leave the holodeck.

When he finally left himself, he went along the corridor at a leisurely pace and waited a moment for the lift. When the turbolift car arrived, he found himself joining Worf inside it.

"Good evening, Mr. Worf," he exclaimed, noting the Klingon was in his gi. "A late class?"

"Yes, sir," Worf announced. It was his usual manner, almost aggressive. He stood at attention stiffly.

"At ease, Lieutenant."

It did little to alter the Klingon's posture. His eyes flicked up and down, taking in the captain's state of dress, but he refrained from comment. "You are welcome to join us, sir."

"I've never been one for the martial arts. Do you have tournaments, or competitions? I might want to see you compete."

"We will have a tournament next month, with the karate class. I practice mok'bara. I will let you know when it is to take place."

The lift stopped on deck seven. "Thank you, Mr. Worf." Picard left the lift and headed for his quarters.

Will Riker was coming from the other direction, and smiled and nodded at him as the met outside the door to the captain's quarters. "Sir. Spending a little time in the holodeck?"

"Yes, just a visit to Paris. Used to take a weekend there once in a while, while I was still at the Academy. I've been badgered by the doctor and the counselor enough about taking the time to relax."

"See you in the morning, sir," he said with a nod, moving on down the corridor toward the lift. And Deanna's door, Picard thought, feeling unsettled by the thought.

"Will?" he called out, before he thought about it.

Will turned back at the summons. "Sir?"

"I'd like to discuss something with you, if you have a moment?" He gestured and headed into his quarters, and the first officer came in behind him, curiosity in his face. "Want anything to drink?"

"No, thanks. What's on your mind?" Will crossed his arms and stood with most of his weight on one leg. At least he was far enough inside that the computer let the door close behind him.

"I felt I should let you know that I've decided... earlier you asked if I was all right. I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. I know that I took a firm stance in the beginning, that you were to be a liaison with the civilian contingent. Especially the children. I've decided to evolve."

That wasn't what Will expected. He did an understated double-take. "Evolve?"

"It's obvious to me that I took a hard and absolute stance about certain things out of defensiveness. That I've had an attitude about relationships with others that only leads to isolation and eventually to loneliness. The counselor has helped me see that I'm only setting myself up for failure. So as a first step toward developing a level of comfort with being less rigid I'm meeting with Wesley tomorrow -- I thought you should know, so when he comes to the bridge you'll know he has an appointment with me."

Will stared, for a few stunned seconds, then grinned. "Well. I'm glad to hear counseling is working out so well for you."

"It's helped me see that I might not have to consider certain kinds of relationships as off limits, as well. I certainly hadn't expected to, but I've actually come to see you as a good friend. You and I have different perspectives on some things, but I've come to realize that we also agree on the more important aspects -- I appreciate your honesty and forthrightness, for example, even if at times it frustrates me that you're right."

"Well... if we're going to be that open about things...." Will chuckled a little. "I didn't expect to like you that much, either. Because it did sound like you were being a bit too extreme, on some things."

"Yes, well, I'm seeing the error of my ways. And it will be having some effect on the bridge, I think, but not directly. I hope that it will help me be more in touch with the crew, at least."

Will was expecting that to be the end of it. He half-turned toward the door, but hesitated to hear the dismissal. Picard nodded, smiled, and took a step away -- but paused. 

"Oh, there is one other thing -- Dr. Michetti will be coming to the ready room next week to see me."

That brought him back to face Picard again. "Dr. Michetti? Why? I thought you were working with Deanna."

"It would be a conflict, for her to attempt to continue working with me."

Will took a moment to parse that statement. His jaw clenched, then he turned on a heel and departed with a stiff stride.

Picard sighed as he watched the door close. It had gone about as well as it could have, he supposed.

After the usual rituals, he pulled back the covers and sat on the edge of the bed, contemplated the short stack of books on the night stand, and then the tickle began -- his head came up as he realized what it was. Deanna was upset, perhaps crying, and he nodded and sympathized with her distress. Will must have gone to talk to her after he left.

When he arrived on the bridge after another restless night of disrupted sleep, he found Will had gotten there early. There was a coolness in his manner but otherwise it was the same Commander Riker as usual, greeting him, updating him on the non-drama of the gamma shift, and then asking if he'd slept well.

"As well as ever," Picard replied with a sigh. "I'll be in my ready room, Number One."

"Yes, sir," Will replied crisply. 

At the ready room door, Picard glanced back -- Will was watching him go in, with a subdued frustration in his eyes. 

Once the door was shut behind him, Picard gazed into the fish tank, as the lion fish swam around with all spines and fins on display. "These things take time," he told Livingston. The fish wriggled into the coral without response. WIth a shake of the head, Picard headed for his desk. "Computer, Earl Grey, hot."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://www.lejulesverne-paris.com/en/dinner


	3. Chapter 3

Around midday, the annunciator sounded and Picard looked up from the book he'd been reading. "Come," he called, figuring it wasn't Wesley -- school had another four hours to go. As he tossed the book on the corner of his desk, Will Riker came in.

"I'm going down to Ten Forward, for lunch," he said.

"All right," Picard said amiably, unsure of why he was being informed. Usually Will left the watch to whoever was on the bridge.

"Deanna and I are starting the performance reviews."

"Good. See you in a couple of hours."

Will cocked his head, questioning.

"Velocity? Or has something come up?"

The jaw unclenched, and Will seemed in a quandary, shifting his weight to his other foot and looking at the floor. "Nothing's come up -- I'll see you then."

The slight thaw was encouraging, Picard thought, watching his first officer leave. He thought about Deanna -- his thoughts drifted that direction often, which had led to the book, his attempt to keep himself from imagining the worst. He hadn't seen or heard from her at all. He'd started to think it was a mistake not to go to her last night, instead of leaving her be.

He left the ready room, and the bridge, then reconsidered going to eat lunch with Guinan as he sometimes did. So he headed for his quarters. He allowed himself to think about later in the day, what they might do -- perhaps she should make that choice.

After recycling the dishes he opened his safe, pulling out his aged photo album and sitting on the end of his bed to open it in his lap. It was a whim, he hadn't looked at the old pictures in a long time, not even when he'd moved into these quarters and put the album in the safe. His parents' wedding picture, the pictures of his brother and himself at various ages, a few of his grandparents -- it wasn't a complete duplicate of the collection at home. There were hundreds of old pictures and videos.

He was looking at a picture of his mother, before she'd married and had children, when the computer announced someone at his door. Setting the album aside, he left the bedroom as he told the computer to admit the person.

Deanna came in. She wore a uniform, which was a little startling to him. "Good afternoon," she said, sounding normal. But then he noticed her eyes were somewhat bloodshot, and she looked tired.

"How was lunch?"

"Strained, but tolerable." She took another step toward him, and started to reach out, but stopped herself and clasped her hands in front of her.

"I wasn't certain what to do, last night," he confessed. "I didn't want to overstep. But I was worried."

Her eyes filled with tears, but her smile reassured him. "I didn't mean to worry you. He was angry, but he didn't stay long. He was abrupt and cold at lunch, but it wasn't as bad as I expected."

"I'm meeting with him this afternoon, for a game of velocity. Before I'm supposed to meet with Wesley."

She blinked in surprise. "Wesley?"

"If I had done right by Jack I would have been spending time with him already."

"Oh."

It bothered him that she was so surprised by it. She reacted to his disgruntlement, but not in the usual way; as the flow of her feelings was re-established he raised his gaze to hers again, to find her looking at him with happy eyes and an affectionate smile.

"Wes will be so glad," she commented.

He noticed her hands fidgeting again, and thought he understood. She wasn't sure she could come to him. He debated what to do about that -- what boundaries would be best, how to go about this -- but he saw that she was looking away, and she cut him off abruptly. She appeared to be upset.

"I'm looking forward to tonight," he said softly.

It didn't help. "Maybe this was a bad idea," she said almost under her breath.

"No," he blurted out of reflex. That startled her again; she looked up from her toes, a pinch of stress still between her brows. "It is not a bad idea. You warned me, in fact, that certain relationships would be strained for a time."

"I started to think about how that might affect missions, this morning."

"You're not going to rely on my experience in these matters, after all."

Her eyes were stormy, her expression pensive. "You think it will settle out."

"They are our friends. Do you know why he's upset?"

Her lips thinned at the thought. "Not because he's jealous. There's disappointment, but I do not believe it was about me."

"Deanna," he summoned, holding out an open hand.

She came hesitantly, but once contact was made she melted into his arms and put hers around him. There was a tension in her body that surprised him, then she started to shake.

"It's not as bad as you think it is."

"Okay," she said, the tears audible in her voice. "I trust you."

"I'm going to the holodeck with Will. Why don't you come here for dinner after shift, and we'll talk more."

"Okay." It was hard to reconcile this with the officer he knew she was. He'd seen her in tears in the line of duty but she hadn't seemed this distraught, before. But she regrouped and pulled away, and nodded, smiling weakly. "I'll just go clean up before my next appointment. Thank you. I was feeling overwhelmed -- it feels as though I might... I don't want to cause you any trouble, disrupt the senior staff."

"I'm not going to worry. If you're sensing anything of concern, that's making you feel this way, we'll talk about it."

She nodded, gave him a bleary, teary smile, and turned to leave. He waited a few moments and headed out himself. The computer let him know, when he requested the information, that Commander Riker was in holodeck two. When he entered Will was already firing at the targets speeding around the holodeck. He called a pause, and Picard picked up the phaser from the table near the arch.

Will watched him come to the center of the room. "You're sure it's a good idea?"

Picard stopped in front of him and sized up the other officer. Serious, but not overtly hostile. "Not at all."

Will smirked at that. "It isn't consistent. You've never done this before."

They'd had a talk, about such things. He didn't remember what had started the conversation but it had been illuminating. "I've followed my instincts on a number of occasions. It's part of why there's a maneuver named after me."

Will's eyebrow jumped. "You're equating a relationship with a mission?"

"Not really, no. I followed my instincts away from Starfleet, for a while. Something is telling me that it's time for a change, I can feel it -- surely you have a gut instinct that propels you into solutions where rational thinking fails you."

"The change being a relationship with a senior officer who was supposed to be your counselor? Isn't that going to make counseling difficult?"

Picard smiled at that. "If we had been engaged in actual therapy, it might. Five sessions of trying to coach me through tactics to defeat insomnia hardly constitute therapy. I wasn't talking to her about everything, because everything involved telling her part of the problem was thinking about her. And now I'll see a different counselor -- I'd have to do that anyway. She fired me, because she knew I was resisting her."

The slight smile disappeared, at that. "She's not thinking clearly."

Picard crossed his arms. "You think so?"

"Of course not. She's easily swayed by emotions. She's caught up and not thinking about her position here, or about her career, or yours."

Picard smiled at that and thought about everything they'd talked about, and thought about mentioning pots and kettles. Or projection. "I'm guessing that you are assuming that none of that has come up in conversation, and that we're doomed to failure from the start. Perhaps we should play velocity while you contemplate the reality that you have no way to predict any of that."

"All right," Will said with a one-shouldered shrug, clearly writing it off as a hopeless cause.

They shot targets for nearly twenty minutes before either of them spoke. It was often the case that they fell into a rhythm firing one after the other and taking out grouped disks before they could team up and swoop in to threaten them. The targets were programmed to come at them in teams after level five.

"Are you coming to Worf's birthday party?" Will asked out of nowhere.

"What?"

"Tasha is throwing a birthday party."

"Do Klingons celebrate birthdays?" It didn't sound right.

"Don't know. But Tasha wanted to, and Data's helping her."

It sounded like a catastrophe waiting to happen. "I suppose it depends on when - and whether the entire crew is invited. I've never been one for large parties."

"Deanna's helping Tasha as well, I think she suggested it to her." Which implied Deanna would be going, which apparently was a test -- now he was being subtly challenged.

"I'll check with her about the schedule, then." Picard shot three targets in succession. He missed the fourth, but Will caught it and spun as another four discs materialized and swooped down from the opposite corner.

"I thought you were making a play for Crusher."

Picard reacted before he could catch himself, spinning on a heel, almost knocking Will off the platform bumping into him and hopping backward off it himself, which paused the program and froze the next set of targets in place. He started to pace around his first officer. "What would lead you to believe that?" he asked at last.

Will watched him, arms out, wary. "It was a guess."

"Do you know how much attention I pay to your relationships?"

Will held up his hands in surrender. "I was just saying," he began slowly. "I was shocked. That's why I reacted as I did. I'm sorry."

Picard nodded. It wasn't that simple. He was certain Will was simply placating, for now, and that there was more to his reaction that hopefully he wouldn't have to hear about. "Are we ready for level six?"

They went on, until a call from the bridge interrupted to announce a priority call from Admiral Jensen. Both of them left the holodeck. "I wonder what it is?" Will asked as they entered the lift.

"Jensen is diplomatic corps. Odds are we're about to be sent to negotiate something." They sped out of the lift. He glanced at Yar. "In my ready room, Lieutenant."

She nodded and looked down at her board. As he entered the ready room Will followed, and that was fine -- Picard rounded the desk and tapped the winking light, and the computer chirped. "Admiral Jensen, this is Captain Picard."

"Jean-Luc. There's a situation -- you are the closest available vessel. The Norass have broken their treaty with the Gemenn. There's no real intel on the matter -- we only know that there was a skirmish, and the Norass are requesting an independent arbiter."

He glanced at Will, who nodded. "We're a day away at high warp," Will said.

"Change course at once, Commander."

"Yes, sir." Will spun about and marched out of the ready room.

"We're on the way as we speak, Jim. If you get any further information you'll send it along?"

"Absolutely," Jensen exclaimed with relief. "Thank you, Jean-Luc. It's a relief to know you're on the job. Jensen, out."

Picard sat down at his desk. He'd taken Jensen to Nori Seven two decades before, on the diplomatic mission that had established relations with the Norass. They weren't Federation members but they were friendly, in a standoffish way -- the outcome had been a nonaggression pact and restrained suggestion of trade in the future, though that had not materialized, to his knowledge. "Computer, all information on the Norass and the Gemenn. Highlight anything pertaining to the relationship between the two."

Will rang for admittance about half an hour later, and stepped in. "Mr. Crusher is here," he said.

"Oh," he exclaimed, looking up, startled from his contemplation of the long standoff between the two species. "Send him in. Thank you, Will."

Will turned and waved him in. The boy fairly bounced into the room. He caught himself halfway to the desk, and smiled tentatively. Will grinned at the boy's back, glanced at Picard, and backed out again, leaving them to it.

"Have a seat," Picard said, gesturing at the chairs. "How are you, Wesley?"

"Okay." He dropped into the chair and fidgeted. "Um. Thanks for seeing me. Sir."

"I've been distracted, otherwise I might have had you come in sooner. I understand you're interested in Starfleet?" That was an understatement, judging from the times he'd seen Wesley and how eager the boy was to see the bridge, see the rest of the ship. Beverly had mentioned her son was studying for the entrance exam already.

Wes grinned. "Yeah. I want to take the exam soon -- Mom says we can arrange it when we figure out when the ship will be at a starbase, whenever that is."

"Well, you might have noticed we're running at a yellow alert," he said, leaning back a little. "On our way to a crisis. So I'm not sure what the answer to that will be. Are you settling in, enjoying school?"

Wes lost some of the excitement at that. "It's okay. Small. There's not a lot of kids my age."

Picard hesitated -- there wasn't much to say about that, that he could see. He had no real control over the school or the people in it. "If you're heading for the Academy soon that will change, of course."

"Well... I'm hoping not too soon. I mean, it's exciting, it's an honor to be here, sir. On the _Enterprise_. I really like it." Wes fidgeted again, looking around.

"Would you care for some tea?"

Wes gaped at that. "Um. Sure!"

When they were each holding a cup of Earl Grey, it was obvious neither had any inspiration as to what to talk about -- Wes was clearly more anxious than he. Picard managed to ask about his grades, and then about physics -- the boy became enthralled in telling him about a project that involved tractor beams. Which reminded him of Wesley's untimely takeover of the ship.

"You seem quite creative and innovative -- are you considering a career in engineering, or in command?"

Wes gaped at him. "I don't know. I didn't really think about that. Can I do both?"

"Certainly. I would -- come in," he exclaimed, as the chime sounded.

To his surprise, Deanna came in. She smiled down at Wes as she stopped next to his chair. "I'm sorry for interrupting. I understand we're on our way to Nori?"

"Yes, Counselor -- we'll be there in a day. I was just discussing careers with Mr. Crusher."

"Then I should come back later, to offer assistance? I have some knowledge of recent events on Nori."

"Actually I can go, if you want," Wesley exclaimed, setting the barely-touched cup of tea on the edge of the desk. "I don't want to get in the way."

"I appreciate that, Mr. Crusher. I'll contact you to reschedule when we're done with this mission," Picard said.

Wes shot him a grin and loped for the door. Once he was gone, Deanna took the chair he'd been in. "He didn't like the tea anyway."

Picard snorted at that. "So you are here to let me know about the Nori?"

"I'm here to do that, yes, and to apologize for my meltdown earlier -- I'm afraid I let myself listen to the fear instead of talking myself around to letting things develop."

"I'll accept the apology, if you'll accept mine. For not being sure what to do to help you."

She was amused by that. "I'm sure you'll do fine."

"Is it better, with Will?"

Her pleased smile didn't waver. "I think so. He's calmer than he was. Less angry."

"All right. So tell me how it is you are acquainted with the Nori?"

"I have a colleague and classmate who went to meet with them on behalf of the Federation, as recently as last year. Marcus started in psychology at the University of Betazed but later went into the diplomatic corps. I've followed his career, and I can contact him for information if it would help."

"Excellent. Though I wonder if Admiral Jensen hasn't contacted him."

Deanna inclined her head. "I suppose we'll find out. Troi to Yar -- open a channel to Marcus Trevian, please, and put him through to the ready room."

 


	4. Chapter 4

"The Norass are less a problem than the Gemenn," Deanna said. "The Norass are reptilian, violent, tend to be quick to anger, but have a sense of honor. They have more self control. The Gemenn are also reptilian but smaller, much more vicious and likely to attack impulsively. Especially if you look them in the eyes."

"This sounds promising," Dr. Crusher muttered. At her right Geordi felt amused, but kept his head bowed and his visor aimed at the table.

Deanna glanced at the captain, on her left at the head of the table -- the briefing was fairly straightforward and no one was very interested in the details, but were paying attention anyway. "The captain was there when the initial agreement between them was made."

"I did not, however, negotiate it. I was present but Admiral Jensen was the one who went down, with a security team or three."

"The Federation has been attempting to continue diplomatic efforts, to move from a non-aggression pact to a treaty, with minimal success. Marcus Trevian has been the most successful diplomat -- but we were unable to reach him." Deanna glanced again at the captain; he was drinking his coffee. At his left, Will stared across the table at her, glancing at their commanding officer and back, not showing the frustration he felt. "Marcus apparently went to Nori Seven a month ago aboard the _Borneo_ , and has not been heard from since last week. He was with three others and a security team. The _Borneo_  reports they have been unable to return to the system as the Gemenn have blockaded the planet."

She noticed Will realizing that she was talking about the same Marcus he had met, when she was a student at the university and he was a lieutenant determined to win her heart. But she looked at others instead -- at Data, sitting next to Will, and Tasha. The security officer smiled, just a tiny movement of the corners of her lips.

"Without question, security will be a necessity -- a strong weaponized team, a solid presence to impress upon both species that we are not weak," the captain said. "At least four teams of five."

"We'll be ready, sir," Tasha exclaimed in that eager, forthright way she had.

"I will be taking Counselor Troi with me, as well as -- "

"No, sir, you will not," Will exclaimed, raising his head. "It's too dangerous."

"This is not a matter for debate, Commander."

Deanna knew the weariness in the captain's voice was the tip of the iceberg; he'd been awake half the night, as she had, reviewing and discussing what they had managed to obtain about the two species and the history of negotiations with them. It wasn't the ideal second date, by any means.

"The aggressiveness of both species argues against your participation, sir," Tasha said. "The commander is right."

"There are Starfleet officers and a diplomatic party of four at risk to consider," the captain said. "And a non-aggression pact to preserve. Preventing a war between them means the neighboring Federation worlds will be safe. And if the Norass cannot find a resolution with our help, it may result in aggression toward the Federation. This is a sensitive situation. We have six hours until we arrive."

Will stared at Deanna as if begging her to intervene. She turned to look at the captain, and not at the first officer. It frustrated him even more.

She waited until the captain turned to her, at last -- he'd been resisting, deliberately not looking at her, and tense -- and said, "My concern is that you're tired -- with a species like the Gemenn we should send someone who is awake and aware of every nuance of body language, their own as well as the delegate's, because if you slip up or miss anything or not react appropriately it could cause a war."

It had a bigger impact than just him. The doctor was alert suddenly, and Will scrutinized the captain's face. He looked weary, but at times he looked that way when everyone was under the stress of an important mission. They didn't know he had been sifting through records on the Norass for hours. He sighed, and glanced at the cup of coffee in front of him. The mostly-empty cup. He still looked like he was about to fall asleep. "I will get four hours of sleep. The doctor will re-evaluate me after. Dismissed."

Everyone pushed back chairs, one at a time leaving the observation lounge. Will lingered, but made his way out as well. Deanna remained in her seat, as did the captain. He waited until they were alone and the door closed.

"I have a bad feeling about this one, Deanna."

"You should let him do it, instead of you," she said quietly. "For all the stated reasons."

He smiled at that -- she leaned and put a hand on his arm. He covered her hand with his own. "He didn't stay up preparing."

The captain stood slowly and went around her chair, heading for the door. She followed him off the bridge, ignoring the way Tasha watched them go, and then down to deck seven, to his door. When she hesitated to follow him inside, he noticed. Half turned and held out a hand.

She took his hand and let him lead her all the way into his bedroom.

"Warp ten?"

"No," he said, turning back to her and letting her hand go. "I know that I'm not going to be able to sleep unless you help me, the way you did yesterday. I don't have time to learn how to do it myself."

She could have argued that point, but nodded and went with it. "Do you normally fall asleep on your back or your side? You should be in that position. I suspect you'll be out before I finish."

He waggled a finger at her. "If you don't go under first. You need to sleep, too."

When he was flat on the bed, she sat on the edge and took his hand. "All right. Close your eyes."

He sighed, loud and long, and she let him reconnect with her -- they were both that tired, and she felt the sympathy and the affection she usually did for her captain, while she brought her focus to him and to the usual process of working through the steps of the meditation she used to relax the body. 

He was asleep before she finished. She considered rousing herself to go to her own quarters, but it was easier to fall down and sleep right there on the edge of the bed she was sitting on.

Deanna dreamed. 

She often had lucid dreams, where she could control the content. She had dreamed repeatedly over the past weeks about him -- there had been times throughout her life that she'd picked up on strong emotions and had them woven into her dreams, and awakened to discover that the emotions were someone else's. When it was someone thinking about her and feeling strong emotions, it was different. Very much directed to her, though she was certain the person was not aware of it. She had known when Jean-Luc had started to dream about her. Suspected that his feelings were about her prior to the dreams - there had begun to be a blend of shame and frustration that he experienced whenever he looked at her and felt attracted to her. So the dreams she sensed from him, when they came, were easily connected to him, and the intensity suggested that he dreamed about her. The last one had been almost like being in bed with him. He'd dreamed vividly about sex -- she suspected he hadn't remembered the dream in the morning, but she had. It had prompted her to finally address what she had known needed to be addressed for weeks, as a counselor. 

And then he had responded unpredictably. Instead of feeling depressed that she had feelings for someone who refused her, she found herself listening to Jean-Luc Picard asking to spend time with her. And then the time she spent with him on the holodeck had been exciting, in that she found it was easy to be with him off duty, especially since he didn't feel the impulse to fill every moment with chatter.

So her dreams now, just thirty-seven hours after that intense sexual experience she'd had with him remotely, were of course a continuation of it all. Being with him while they picked apart the nuances of interacting with alien species was different, now. He no longer battled to suppress the attraction he felt, relaxed into the work with her, and that was much more satisfying than she might have expected, had she thought about how it would be working with him while in a more intimate relationship with him.

The dream started slow, with the bridge, sitting next to him. It progressed in sudden jumps -- they were in the ready room listening to log entries made by other officers about the Norass. They were in the corridor. The holodeck. His quarters. He had his hand on her face, while he kissed her, as they stood in the living room. Without transition they were on the bed. It was almost as intense as the last dream -- it felt real, perhaps more than before, and she was kissing him and then felt his hand on the skin of her abdomen, and she opened her eyes.

It took a second or two to recognize that she had awakened, and he was in fact kissing her -- he'd shoved aside the shirt of her uniform. "Jean-Luc," she murmured.

The sound of her voice startled him. He flinched -- and then he was shocked, at finding himself in the middle of a kiss with his hands on her. She caught his hand before he pulled away, held it against the smooth skin of her belly, and kissed him again, mostly to reassure him. 

"Computer, time," she said as she let herself fall back with her head on the pillow. 

"The time is thirteen hundred thirty hours."

"Two and a half hours left," she said. "Are we finishing this, or taking cold showers?"

It threw him into confusion. He rolled away from her and groaned, rubbing his temple and forehead. "I'm sorry."

"We were dreaming together. Stop feeling guilty."

Another tumult of confusion. "Together? What do you mean?"

"Sharing the dream. I don't know how it started but it isn't the first time it happened."

"You mean we were both having the same dream. Doing -- When did this happen before?"

Deanna smiled up at the viewports, in which she could see the light show of warp speed, streaks of the colors of the rainbow against the black of space. "Take a deep breath. It doesn't matter. No need to feel that way."

"But -- you are telling me that you were in dreams with me," he exclaimed.

"And I didn't tell you when it happened, because I didn't want to embarrass you. I was going to talk to you about it but we were busy. We still have a little time to rest, how do you want to spend it?"

There was a few moments of internal warring going on, and then he sat up. She stayed as she was, one arm resting across her ribs, the other lying on the bed loosely next to her, one of her boots still slightly off the edge of the bed -- she'd clearly moved about in her sleep as she remembered being on her side facing the wall. He gazed at her and continued to debate, with a little less guilt and anxiety, with that undercurrent of sexual tension from the dream as he thought about it. She left herself open and so he could tell she was quite receptive to anything he wanted. In fact, she knew she was wet and ready, as she felt that coiling anticipation low in her abdomen, and the slow clench of muscles kept her from wiggling in anticipation. She sighed, moaning a little.

Now he was staring at her. She couldn't help but roll her hips slightly, in anticipation. She waited, but he teetered on the brink of the abyss, unable to go either way.

"Jean-Luc?" 

"I'm getting in the shower." He slid off the other side of the bed and fled into the bathroom. 

After a moment of disappointment, a little hurt, she thought about it and started to feel relief and happiness. This said he wouldn't let her distract him from his work. It said that being with him wouldn't destroy his career. She sighed, and got up from the bed. A glance in the mirror on the wall said she'd managed to wreck her hair and half her makeup. Going to the bathroom door, she leaned in slightly.

"I'm going back to my quarters to change."

"See you on the bridge," he called back over the sonics.

Deanna hurried off to her own shower, and focused on getting ready for duty. 

It was a freak accident that she emerged in the corridor just as he was heading for the lift. They both stopped and looked at each other with a sheepish smile.

"When we're done with the mission," he said. "Because I'd rather have more time."

"Yes," she said with a grin. "So we're heading for sickbay? You said the doctor would assess."

He turned to walk toward the lift. "Do you think I'm fit for duty?"

"I think that you have been sufficiently rested."

"And then catapulted into a highly-stimulated state from which I may yet recover," he commented blandly. 

"I don't see any evidence of that."

He sighed, as they passed into the lift. "Sickbay." The door closed, and the car started to move. "Uniforms were once better able to hide the evidence."

Deanna didn't think about the ramifications of showing up with him until she was in sickbay and Beverly blinked and stared at her, as she tailed the captain through the door. 

"Over here," the doctor said, pointing at a biobed. "We may as well be thorough."

"I'll check with Lieutenant Yar and have her bring her teams to the conference room on deck two for briefing," Deanna said, turning to go. She sensed his approval.

Will stood up as she came out of the lift on the bridge and watched her -- she smiled at him, but turned to Yar. "You've organized your teams?"

"Yes, they're ready to go whenever we are." Tasha smiled at her. "We're still ninety minutes from Nori system."

"The captain wants to brief everyone in conference room four, in fifteen minutes."

Tasha nodded, her eyes questioning. "I'll have them all there and ready in ten."

When she returned to the lift, Tasha followed her. The instant the door closed the chief of security planted her hand on the panel to halt the car between decks. "What's going on?"

"Tasha?"

"Riker's too quiet, and you didn't come to the gym last night."

Deanna sighed. She'd been attending Tasha's thrice-weekly evening martial arts class for a few weeks, hoping to be less incapable of defending herself. She'd forgotten to tell her friend she wouldn't be there in the excitement about going to the holodeck. Before she could compose a response, Tasha did the usual impatient jump to a conclusion.

"Are you and Riker, you know...."

"Tasha," she blurted, looking at the ceiling of the lift. "No."

"It's someone else?" Tasha bumped her elbow against Deanna's. "Come on -- you've been moodier all the time, and then you vanish from class and yesterday you're fine again?"

"It's not what you think."

 "Then what is it?" Tasha finally touched her arm. It wasn't like Tasha to be this way; she was usually so guarded. Deanna had befriended her early. The hard life Tasha had had as a child had forced her to become hard and ruthless, and it took a lot for her to trust others with the more intimate details of her life. Going into Starfleet she had been put into counseling; she'd complied reluctantly, made progress, but hated that process, and so refused to engage in that manner with Deanna. So friendship was what she had to work with. It had led to a genuine relationship with Tasha that she found quite fulfilling. That Tasha was genuinely concerned with no agenda made it difficult to deny and obfuscate. Deanna knew that any misstep, however well intended, might erase that trust.

"I've been moody because I've felt an attraction for someone that would never be reciprocated. I was even considering a transfer."

Tasha stared in consternation and gripped Deanna's shoulder. "What happened? Something happened to change things. Who is it, if it's not Riker?"

"I knew he felt something for me. I knew and I also knew it wasn't likely he would do anything about it -- it complicated things that he was a client. Or he was supposed to be... it didn't quite take off, never really got anywhere, because of his feeling attracted and fighting it, and wanting to not tell me anything. Because he decided never to allow a relationship with a fellow officer within the same chain of command."

"Oh my god," Tasha blurted. "It's the captain."

Something about the way she said it had an impact -- unexpected, and like a blow to the gut. Deanna covered her face with her hands. "I can't," she moaned.

"But -- you were?"

"I shouldn't have let myself do this," Deanna exclaimed, trying not to cry. "We need to go -- there's a mission. There's a briefing. We'll talk later. This is the wrong time."

Tasha let the lift finish its journey, and Deanna forced herself through it -- managed a smile, and a pleasant demeanor throughout. But the captain was paying attention. At the end of the briefing with four teams of four security officers, during which he specified what he wanted them to carry and how he wanted them to comport themselves, he dismissed all of them. As Deanna started to follow Tasha and her officers from the room, he stopped her with a look; as the last of the security officers moved out the door, he approached her and as the door hissed shut, took her hand.

"What's wrong?"

She met his eyes, and couldn't keep a few tears from escaping. Concern filled his eyes.

"I can't decide," she said at last. "Am I not thinking about this objectively? Am I letting how I feel about you cloud my judgment? Because I've never heard of anyone doing this, though it wouldn't make sense to, given it's not something that Starfleet would want the fleet at large to know about."

"Stop," he whispered. "Tell me something -- when you confronted me in my ready room and left it up to me, why did you do that?"

"It was the right thing to do. You have the right as a client to make your own choices."

"So do you. And you haven't chosen to turn away, turn me down -- is that because you're making an emotional choice? Or is it more than that? Why were you happy, earlier, when I went to take a shower, if it's nothing but following your feelings?"

"I suppose if I weren't questioning this it would argue in favor of it being impulsive, rather than something more. But part of me also questions how much of a risk it is, and whether it's a repeat of what I've done before. I want to continue working with you," she said. "I think we work well together."

"I know that we do. You have a way of questioning without accusation or challenge that leads me to think rather than react. I think it's made me a better officer. I have to wonder if I would still have the _Stargazer_ if you had been aboard."

"Well, that's a moot question. We have an hour and fifteen minutes to finish preparing for the mission. You're hungry."

"Yes. The captain's dining room is just down the hall."

She followed him from the conference room to the second door on the left from it. The small dining room was less standard issue, designed for the captain to entertain diplomats  and as she replicated her usual salad the computer chirped. "Riker to Picard."

"Yes, Number One?" He pulled out a chair for Deanna while he responded. She settled at the single round table and looked up at him.

"I'd like to meet with you to discuss the mission."

"Yes, I was just sitting down to a meal -- I'll return to the bridge when I'm done. Picard out."

Deanna sighed and studied the nuts and leaves in her bowl.

"Such frustration, just at the sound of his voice," he commented as he sat across from her and picked up half his sandwich.

"He scolded me for being too swept away and not thinking about my career. I told him he was letting his feelings affect his judgment more than I was. Because he was." She picked up her fork and stabbed lettuce.

"Good."

Thinking further about what Jean-Luc had said led to another sigh, and she raised her eyes to study him across the table. "How did you know I was happy, earlier?"

He finished the last bite of the first half of his sandwich, and as he replied he raised an eyebrow. "I thought you were intentionally projecting your feelings. Is that not the case? You were disappointed, as I was, but then you were happy. Which I find reassuring."

"I -- " Deanna tried to remember whether she had been continually projecting, or if she had chosen not to do so at some point, and couldn't. "I suppose I haven't been paying much attention today, to whether or not I am projecting."

"What is making it easier for me to move forward has been the lack of assumptions on your part. The openness you've shown, your willingness to share how you feel. The problem with relationships, even friendships, in any chain of command, has always been the risk of misunderstanding -- more so than the risk of favoritism. I have only been able to see us as possible because you don't show any sign of the kinds of assumptions that are usually made in relationships."

Deanna smiled down at her half-eaten salad. "The kinds of unconscious assumptions too many people make in relationships are what I often challenge in couples counseling. They aren't just problems for people in the same chain of command. Nor am I immune to such issues -- I'm afraid statistics for therapists aren't good, when it comes to relationships. I think we tend to go in with overconfidence, or insecurities, or simply being jaded and expecting the worst."

"Second guessing is to be expected, then." Jean-Luc finished his sandwich in two more bites, and reached for the glass of water. "I want you to continue projecting your emotions and being connected as we've been, for the mission. I want to know what you sense from both species, without delay or overt signals from you. Not so I can get the drop on them, but so I can react in a more informed manner to work toward a peaceful resolution. What I remember about both species is that they don't have facial expressions, as so many other humanoid species do."

"Yes, sir."

He raised his head, and his eyebrows, slightly. "That, too, is reassuring."

"I'm going to be the officer you expect. The one I wanted to be. It doesn't matter how insecure or afraid I am, if I do that."

He smiled at her, and she sensed his pride and satisfaction -- she had her own share of the satisfaction, and her own pride that she was able to tell, now. It had previously been difficult for her to tell where her emotions ended and strong emotions of others began.

"You should go talk to Will. I'm going to spend the rest of the time meditating, so I'm clearheaded."

They took the dishes to recycle them, and as she turned from dropping hers in the slot, he took a step toward her and leaned to kiss her lightly on the lips.

"When we're done with this mission, I'll open a bottle of wine," he murmured.

"As if I needed incentive -- I'll look forward to that."

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Pain.

Deanna was a connoisseur of it -- there were so many kinds of pain, so many variations and blends.

She was aware, when she was awake to some degree, of pain in her body, radiating mostly from her chest. There were fleeting memories, some of them she recognized as flashbacks -- another form of pain she knew well, sensing those of clients through the past years of being a counselor -- and then there were moments when the doctor's worried face hovered in view, and then sometimes her consciousness didn't extend to all seven of her senses. She would be unable to speak, or open her eyes. Sometimes she knew she'd been drugged with something that sedated her, as there was a fuzziness to her empathy.

It would stop sometime.

So when she opened her eyes at long last and felt weary but not drugged, and remembered nightmares, flashbacks, brief lucid periods and also, the sense of fear from Jean-Luc -- her thoughts, when she could muster herself to think, had gone to him first each time and she'd sensed him in varying degrees of fear, concern, anger and frustration -- but did not experience any of them, nor fall right back into slumber, she suspected she was sufficiently recovered that Beverly had allowed her to come out of it at long last. There was a dull ache in her chest beneath her sternum that suggested rounds of regeneration and surgery.

She moaned, moved her arms, brought her hands to her head -- it ached slightly as it did when she'd been given a lot of pharmaceuticals. She sluggishly attempted to sit up, and a hand on her shoulder thwarted the effort. "Lie back. It's all right," Beverly crooned soothingly. "You're all right."

"What about everyone else? What happened?" Deanna had a vague memory of one of the Gemenn in motion, toward them. The green-gray reptilian had drawn a long shining blade instead of the energy weapon at his waist, and lunged past the two security officers on the captain's left. She couldn't remember the rest.

"What do you remember?" Beverly was testing her, now. Beneath the expression of calculating appraisal there was an interesting blend of resoluteness, frustration, anguish, relief -- there were some reactions to multiple challenging situations present. At least, that was the usual reason for such emotions. There was no conflict present; she was determined, and also despairing. The counselor found it interesting. On another level she really didn't want to know. Beverly wasn't a client and never would be.

"I remember a Gemenn with a weapon lunging at us. We were just getting through the initial introductions, and there was a sudden rush of anger from one individual -- I was trying to pinpoint which one when he went into motion and got past Worf and Garibaldi." Worf would be humiliated. If he was still alive. "Where is the captain?"

A surge of anguish -- well, that was an answer to some of the riddle of Beverly's feelings. Outwardly she merely glanced down and away for a few seconds, before smiling a little, as she pulled herself together and expressed a little genuine concern and affection. "He was only in sickbay for less than a day. Deanna, tell me how you're feeling right now."

"There's some soreness in my chest. A tiny headache. Some tingling, in the extremities. I know I've been here a long time."

"You were having nightmares. At one point you woke up in the middle of one and tore some of the soft tissue in the chest fighting with Nurse Ogawa. I think you were having a flashback."

"I need to know what happened," Deanna exclaimed. This time she did sit up. The twinge of pain in her chest made her wince.

"You're going to be on medical leave for another couple of weeks, Deanna. You'll have plenty of time to hear all about it from anyone you like -- no one was killed, and everyone but you has been released back to duty. You were the only one gravely injured. You saved the captain's life."

Deanna looked around sickbay. It was empty at the moment. "What time is it?"

"Almost dinner time. I'm going to move you to a more private space -- you're to the point that we need to monitor but won't need to have you here in main sickbay. Come on." Beverly kept her hands on Deanna's arm and shoulder as she put her feet on the floor. Her body immediately let her know she'd been sedated for a while; her legs were weak. The doctor let her struggle for a moment and lean on her as she found her balance and convinced her knees to stop folding. Deanna walked unsteadily to a more remote part of sickbay, past the lab just off main sickbay into a semi-private ward with three biobeds, a few chairs, a small table in the corner. Private, now, because no one else was here.

"I hate this," Deanna muttered as she sat on the biobed and once again reclined. "I shouldn't be out of breath just walking around."

"It'll take a while to get back to normal. But you'll get there. In the meantime it's important not to push even if you feel like you can do something -- I would rather see you leave and not come back, you know," Beverly said with a fond smile.

It had been hard to get to know the doctor. Beverly tended to be busy and sometimes randomly so. Deanna smiled at her, and winced as she inhaled deeper than before and suffered another twinge, this time in the ribs. "I think we agree on that one. Is everything all right? You seem... I don't know, not happy?"

Beverly's smile wavered a bit. "I'm never happy when friends are injured to the point that I have to keep them sedated for three days solid. When I let you start to come out of it the nightmares were frightening. They would call me in and you'd be thrashing and screaming."

Deanna thought about the implication of that. Beverly normally stayed in sickbay during alpha shift. That meant she was off shift whenever Deanna had come out of sedation. She focused on people she knew, checking on how they felt, and discovered that most of her handful of friends were well enough, but Jean-Luc was tired and yet anxious.

"I'd like to talk to the captain," she said.

Beverly's eyes dove for the floor, for a moment. "Of course. You can contact him any time you're ready. I know he'll want to see you -- he's been annoying as hell, cruising in to check on you every few hours. I know...."

"Beverly."

The sad blue eyes met hers. "Deanna. It's all right. I should have guessed, from the way he was acting, before."

Deanna crossed her arms over her stomach awkwardly and wished she could edit her life. "I wouldn't feel it was all right, either."

Beverly snorted, a half-laugh, and shook her head then focused on bringing the bed's monitors to life and programming them. "Feelings aren't the end of the world, you know. They come, they go. I used to think he felt something for me a long time ago. I suppose I imagined it might still be there, somewhere, because I grieved for a long time but there comes a point where you move past that -- you can't stay attached to the dead husband. But I knew when the two of you were beamed in here...."

That was a confusing knot of pain, that memory, whatever it was. "You knew what? Please tell me what happened."

Beverly stopped tapping the panel and stood back, pushing her hair out of her face, and crossed her arms tightly. Her eyes flitted around and finally came to rest on Deanna's face. "I was told, by Yar, that you jumped in front of him and took the blade through the sternum. It went all the way through -- you were pinned together at the chest. The tip of the blade lodged in his chest, in one of his ribs, but didn't reach his organs. It took three surgeries to repair the damage to your soft tissue and I had to clone and replace one of your lungs. I had to put an artificial ventricle in place -- the blade caught you at an angle and pierced the side of your heart. You went through a number of cycles of the osteoregenerator while you were unconscious."

Deanna closed her eyes against the tears. "I was dead, wasn't I?"

"For a few minutes, technically, yes. He was in shock, and holding you in his arms. He was a wreck. We had to pry his arms open. I knocked him out, before we pulled you apart and put you both on beds. Dr. Selar was able to repair the damage while I worked to resuscitate and then start to repair your injuries."

"Thank you, Beverly," Deanna exclaimed. She forced herself up despite stiffness and a twinge in the ribs, and leaned to pull the doctor into an awkward one-armed hug. Beverly put both arms around her and returned her affection in kind, giving her hope that it would be all right.

"We've all been worried about you, and about him. He's not in the best frame of mind. Commander Riker successfully completed the mission on the back of what happened to you -- evidently, the Gemenn who attacked did so without approval or foreknowledge of the rest of their delegation, completely on a whim of his own, and the Norass were impressed when Will steadfastly asserted that we wanted a peaceful conclusion to the situation in spite of two of our officers being nearly killed within thirty minutes of beaming down. And then the captain returned to the negotiation within twenty-four hours, and showed no ill will to anyone -- he argued against the death of the individual who stabbed you."

Deanna smiled at that and settled back on the bed. "I'm glad it worked out after all. Are we still in the Nori system?"

"No, we're back on course for Omicron Theta. We returned the diplomatic team and the officers from the _Borneo_ to that vessel, and your friend Marcus says hello, wanted me to convey his hope for your speedy recovery -- he's expecting you to call him. But you should do that later. I'm going to prop you up so you can eat your first meal in a few days."

"I'm hungry," Deanna exclaimed, realizing it was quite true as she said it.

Beverly's smile was more her usual, at last. She locked the bed at about a thirty degree angle. "I think I can rustle up a dining companion while I'm at it. The replicator's in the other room, what are you in the mood for?"

"A large blue leaf salad with pecans, feta, tomatoes, and Bularian pink peas. Some Rigellian angel hair pasta with pesto. Chocolate ice cream."

"And when has there not been chocolate ice cream? I'll go call him and let him know you're awake."

Deanna watched her leave, let her head roll until her left cheek rested on the pillow, and almost fell asleep. A few moments later she awakened to find him there, placing a tray on the table, and then hurrying to the bed to look in her eyes, intent and excited.

"Hi," she said, smiling. And then she found herself gathered up in his arms. He held her a little too tightly, until he settled down.

"How do you feel?" he asked, holding her shoulders carefully until she was leaning back against the pillows again.

"A little fuzzy, but I assume that's aftereffects of the sedative. Beverly told me the mission was successful?"

Jean-Luc stared at her for a moment. It confused her, but she sensed that the calm expression was only the cover for the regret and the anguish, and a little of the sort of dark amusement he felt at times, when things went beyond anyone's control and all they had left was simply coping and looking for a way out. Then he reached up and touched her face, twisted a lock of hair around a finger, let it unwind as he pulled his hand away.

"You weren't there as security, you know."

"I'm an officer and you're my captain. What would you have done?"

That at least produced a smile. "The same, perhaps. You're not sharing your feelings with me."

"I'm feeling a little numb, a little headachy." And her stomach growled and whined. He stopped behaving with such subdued, muted angst and fed her. Which was another oddity. He could have handed her the salad but he fed her, one bite at a time, until she commented on it. And kept feeding her.

"I've missed you," he commented at last.

"I can sense the understatement -- you had nightmares, didn't you?"

That triggered a bleak expression and a wince. "You died in my arms."

"I had your nightmares. It kept her from letting me finish waking up."

He turned and put the dish that formerly held pasta on the tray. "I'm sorry."

"I hope you're talking to Dr. Michetti."

The guilt said no. He leaned until his forehead pressed against her temple, and put his hand on her hair gently. Smiling, she kissed his cheek and let herself reconnect with him, so he could tell she was all right and still felt the same about him.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that," she murmured. "But I'm not sorry I did it."

He groaned and then his arms were around her, her head against his shoulder -- fortunately he could tell when the slight twist in her body hurt and eased off, backed a step. "Forgive me if I don't take you on away missions for a while?"

"You'll assign me when I need to go. Right?"

Rolling his eyes, he smiled, resigned to it. "Probably."

"I'll share my ice cream with you."

Jean-Luc stared at her with bemusement. "You're sure you're not still drugged?"

"Yes. I anticipate if there's not enough, you'll go get more."

His sly smile suggested they were finding equilibrium. "I suspect you could ask me for anything and get it, at this point."

"Kiss me?"

"I'm not supposed to do anything to excite you. Doctor's orders." He turned to fetch the bowl of ice cream.

"So you're afraid that kissing me will kill me? You have an incredibly exaggerated idea of the effect you have on women, I suppose," she said.

He held the bowl of ice cream and stared at her -- then took up a spoonful and deliberately shoved it in his mouth. He took another. She stuck out her lower lip, not quite successfully squelching the smile.

"You aren't excited to see me," he half-asked.

"You know I am."

"I am relieved, and happy," he said, stepping in closer. "And I will be so much happier when you're cleared for duty and we can go back to Paris."

She leaned slightly forward and he finally kissed her as she'd requested, even letting her play her tongue in between his lips, then stood back to offer a spoonful of melting ice cream. It was good -- with chocolate syrup and sprinkles. Deanna let her head fall back on the pillow and held it in her mouth while it melted.

"You mean we aren't in Paris? I guess I'm that happy to see you that I hadn't noticed," she said with a smile.

"Stop making me want to kiss you again. Or take you home."

There were several implications explicit in that -- she gazed at him and wanted to melt into his arms.

"Home."

Jean-Luc smiled ruefully. "It's odd. I hadn't felt like that was true until just now."

"Can I have more ice cream?"

His smile softened, and he fed the rest of the ice cream to her until it was gone. "You want more?"

"I want you to read to me."

"I'll take the dishes and get something -- don't go anywhere."

She snorted, watching him carry the tray out. "I suspect she has alarms on the bed that will throw up a force field, so I'll be here when you get back."

She awakened again a few minutes later when she heard footsteps -- but she realized it wasn't him, the instant she woke. Deanna opened her eyes to see Will smiling in that sad way that told her he had deep regrets. She smiled anyway.

"Scuttlebutt has it you're awake," he said gently. And took her hand, where it lay at her side. "Told you I should have gone."

"I would have done the same for you. Then you'd be the one traumatized."

His smile vanished. "If I had gone I wouldn't have taken you along."

"Of course you would have. For the same reason he did."

Will's head tilted to the left, and he chewed his lip and removed his hand from hers. "I would have protected you."

"Maybe. I doubt it. Things happened too fast, and you couldn't have predicted what happened any more than any of us who were there might have. I suppose Worf is on a holodeck killing Gemenn soldiers by the dozen?"

"Good guess. He tried to throw himself on his sword in the debriefing, but the captain wouldn't have it. Tasha will be here the instant she knows you're awake, to apologize." Will kept looking at her with a smirk.

Deanna rubbed her lips with her thumb. "I guess there might be a little ice cream left? He was feeding me chocolate."

Immediately, his brow furrowed and the storm clouds descended. "Well. I just wanted to stop in and make sure you were all right."

"Thanks, Will. And congratulations on pulling off the mission. I'm glad everything turned out well -- Beverly said Marcus was rescued, thank you."

"All in a day's work." He turned and met the captain on his way out, stepping around Jean-Luc with a nod, and disappeared from the room. Jean-Luc watched him go and brought the book over, picking up a chair and swinging it over to sit next to the biobed.

"I had to rummage a bit in storage but I found Rumi. I can lower this, if you would be more comfortable?"

"Or I can -- it's right here," she said, touching the panel. The bed hummed a little as the angle decreased.

"Not going to let me take care of you," he grumbled.

"There are other ways you can atone for the crime of watching me save your life and being unable to do anything heroic."

He glared down his nose at her, but only for an instant. His smile suggested he appreciated her suggestion. "My own fault, I suppose, for developing an obsession about a psychologist."

"Who is Rumi?"

"Who was Rumi, is the question. A Sufi poet from the thirteenth century. Similar to the works of the Betazoid poet, Nar."

"When did you start reading Betazoid poetry?"

He opened the book and flipped a few pages. "While you were in the second surgery." There was pain, under that statement. She responded with a wave of sorrow, and his eyes flicked up from the book -- the sorrow floated back and forth between them, for a moment.

"What kind of poetry did he write?" she asked.

"This particular collection focuses on peace, harmony and love."

She sighed. "You're reading me love poetry in sickbay?"

"I think nearly everyone who works here is aware of my feelings about you by now. Censorship at this late date seems pointless. Now we rely upon the ethics of medical personnel, to keep this confidential."

Deanna rolled on her left side, and gazed at him with a fond smile. "If you're comfortable with that. I would have settled for the inventory of spare parts for the warp engines, you know. So long as you're the one reading it."

His subdued smile and intensity in the eyes spoke little of the feelings that resonated with her, and he turned pages for a moment. And he began to read, quietly but without faltering.  


_Don't go anywhere without me._  
_Let nothing happen in the sky apart from me,_  
_or on the ground, in this world or that world,_  
_without my being in its happening._  
_Vision, see nothing I don't see._  
_Language, say nothing._  
_The way the night knows itself with the moon,_  
_be that with me. Be the rose_  
_nearest to the thorn that I am._

_I want to feel myself in you when you taste food,_  
_in the arc of your mallet when you work,_  
_when you visit friends, when you go_  
_up on the roof by yourself at night._

_There's nothing worse than to walk out along the street_  
_without you. I don't know where I'm going._  
_You're the road, and the knower of roads,_  
_more than maps, more than love._

Jean-Luc glanced at her as it ended, and then stared. Deanna dabbed at the corners of her eyes with the corner of the blanket Beverly had tossed over her.  


"If she really told you not to excite me too much, maybe you should go get the inventory," she said when she could speak again.  


  



	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Datalore, the episode, must have been filmed during Marina's vacation. Troi was not even present in the background.

Deanna sat up for her third breakfast in sickbay. Beverly accompanied Ogawa into the room with the tray, and the two of them greeted her pleasantly and went about the usual checks.

"Your last meal with sickbay, I think," Beverly said. "We're going to send you home with restrictions -- it'll be at least two weeks of rest for you. Walking and talking is the extent of it. No reaching, raising your hands over your head or anything else that might strain the chest. Your heart is fine, but your ligaments, tendons and muscles will still need some time and the bone is regenerated but you know it takes a little time to rebuild itself."

"I'll be happy to be in a real bed again," Deanna exclaimed, as Beverly passed her a bowl of yogurt and fruit. "I haven't been able to sleep very well. I keep waking up every time someone comes in sickbay."

"There are others who'll be happy you're going," Alyssa said with a mischievous smile. "All those visitors streaming in and out."

It was true that she'd been kept relatively busy, for someone trapped in sickbay. Data had brought a chess board. Worf had come by and apologized, rumbled abashedly about his failure, and almost accepted her insistence that there were in fact times when everyone made a mistake and the intelligence had not mentioned how tough or strong a Gemenn could be, so it was difficult to predict how one should react to such an attack. Wesley had come in as well, yesterday afternoon, all chatty and happy about having had tea with the captain again. Several of her clients had stopped in to say they hoped she would be better soon and she was missed. Tasha had come by every day, sometimes for nearly an hour, and updated her on everything going on -- the security chief had an eye for minutiae and she was watching Will and Jean-Luc engage in a subtle, tense back-and-forth. Overtly it was all business as usual on the bridge. Then Will had returned. His two visits were short, tense, and she could tell he wasn't being forthcoming -- he was worried, underneath the consternation and scowling, when she dropped Jean-Luc into conversation. And jealous. He hadn't been, before, but he was now. Likely he had told himself this was a brief fling, a flirtation, and she would come to her senses.

And, of course, Jean-Luc hovered -- not as anxiously as while Deanna had been unconscious, but he came and went a couple of times a day and ate dinner with her, talking about inconsequential things. He brought things to read. Not the poetry again, but old fiction and literature that he thought she might enjoy. It was easier with her awake; she kept them connected, relaxing into that state until it felt natural to have him in her thoughts. He was still having difficulty sleeping. Last night he had had another nightmare, not as terrible as the ones he'd had when he was terrified while she lay unconscious in sickbay. She'd been able to redirect it for him.

Alyssa left once the checking was done, and Beverly sat in the chair where Jean-Luc had left it near the head of the bed. "You're popular," Beverly said. "Most of our patients don't get that much attention."

"Always my goal, being popular," Deanna said with a roll of the eyes. "How is the survey going?"

Beverly waved a hand. "As well as they ever do. We'll visit the planet at the end. Data's calling it his home."

"It's technically true, if one considers one's place of origin their home. A barren planet would feel too sterile and empty, for us to call it home, but Data has no feelings to be sentimental that way."

"True." Beverly's eyes hazed over and a sad little smile confirmed a trip to the past. "I've had a couple of homes, over the years. Right now I'd have to say this is home. Wes and I have had a few places while we were on Earth, but I like it here and so does he."

"Despite the tension once in a while?"

Beverly shrugged. "I'm Starfleet and he already thinks he is -- he's pestering his teacher to let him do a project for engineering, or at least propose a few. I like having a sickbay of my own. And even though I'm a tiny bit disappointed... I've been thinking, and I've decided it would have been ridiculous to expect it to work, between me and Jean-Luc."

"Oh? I would have thought otherwise."

The doctor stared at her with a shake of her head. "You're amazing."

"I'm simply acknowledging the truth -- he finds you attractive, and he thinks of you as a friend. I think the rest of any relationship is a matter of the person convincing himself that it's what he wants. Or what she wants, what they both want -- a matter of everything aligning at the right time."

"It's interesting, you say that as if you believe it."

Deanna sat up, swinging her legs off the bed, holding the empty bowl in her lap. "You don't expect me to believe you think there's more to it? Of course it's true. I'd be married to Will if it weren't true."

Beverly sat for a moment gaping, and it proved again that they hadn't talked very much about anything, in the past few months. "Will was in love with you?"

"We were engaged for months. And then he decided he didn't want to be married while he's climbing the promotion ladder as fast as he can, and when he came aboard he waved me off saying we were better as colleagues."

"Okay, but -- the captain is -- " Beverly chuckled a little. "That takes the cake, doesn't it. He changed his mind, I guess anything is possible."

"I think Will stepped back from me because he didn't want to rush into it. That was a smart thing to do. It's been years, since he broke the engagement. He knows as well as any of us how we can change over time. He wanted to get to know me again, and I discovered that I was wrong, I didn't want to be with him. And then I started to work more closely with Jean-Luc, and the professional relationship failed. At least, the part of it that was supposed to be there as a counselor. He wouldn't budge. Wouldn't talk to me because he was attracted to me and thought he shouldn't be."

"I was going to say you appear to have no difficulties being the typical officer bent on self destruction," Beverly said with a chagrined smile. "At least he figured it out. How about we celebrate your release from sickbay with a trip to the salon?"

"I could be offended by that sideways comment on the catastrophic state of my hair, but I'm that desperate and you've forbidden me to raise an arm to brush it, so let's go."

"I'll ask the replicator for something that resembles clothing, so you can get out of that gown," Beverly said, rising to go.

Adorned in a copy of one of her dresses, Deanna left sickbay with Beverly and tried to be chipper, smiling at the occasional passer by and wishing she wasn't being seen with her hair in a ratted mess. They reached the salon and Mr. Mott went to work on her, while Beverly sat in the nearby chair and had Gayle trim her red hair.

"You were due in two weeks ago," Mott said, scolding as he yanked at the mats with a comb. "What happened to you?"

"Six days in sickbay," Deanna said, trying not to take offense. The barber wasn't an officer, after all. He rarely heard about anything unless someone told him. "I'd like it a little shorter, I think. It probably needs thinning and some conditioning as well."

"I'd say so. Let's get it shampooed and start with some detangler."

It took a while, longer than Beverly was willing to spend away from sickbay, so after some chitchat with the doctor about maybe taking in some relaxing holodeck simulation later, Beverly left the salon. It took nearly an hour to get all the tangles out and then Mott spent a little more time styling and drying her long waves and curls.

"Much better. Would you care to consider a little color? Perhaps some highlights. We could do some wonderful things with purple or even some blue to match your departmental colors."

"Not today, thank you."

She left for her quarters. She wanted to be able to walk without slowing down, without being out of breath, but her usual pace was too much, so she puttered along and lamented the change. One of the things she'd persuaded Beverly to do was give more details, about the surgeries. It would take time to get back to being as fit as she had been. The new lung wasn't as efficient as her previous one, yet; the tissue was still developing. That was status quo with a cloned replacement organ. As she reached the lift down the corridor from the salon, it opened, and the captain emerged.

"I'm supposed to go to quarters and keep being slothful and unproductive," she said.

He turned and went right back in the lift with her. "That would sum up the difficulty of being a Starfleet doctor, wouldn't it? Having patients who are determined to do things instead of sleep."

"I suppose you're here to make sure I get to my quarters? Computer, deck seven."

"If you want me to have an excuse. It's good to see you upright and smiling, and not in the sickbay robe."

In the privacy of the lift, his hand drifted over into the small of her back. He was drawn to her, wanting to do more, but also concerned about her. He followed her to her door, then hesitated as she went in. She turned to look back, smile, wave him in. "You're always welcome, Jean-Luc."

"Always?"

"Until I decide you're not, and I think that's not likely. Would you like something? Can you stay?"

He took her arm and nudged her over to sit her down on the couch. "Apparently if you're actually going to rest, you're going to need supervision. I'll get what I want, when I want it. Do you want anything?"

She smiled up at him. "For you to sit with me for a while?"

He sighed and joined her there on her smaller couch, putting his arm around her. "You can come to dinner tonight, I hope? I've still got that wine."

"I'd like to do that. You're going to tell me what you haven't been saying, I hope."

The ongoing regret came to the fore. She knew there was a lot that had not been said about the incident and his reaction to it.

"Maybe you should tell me now so we can enjoy dinner later?"

"I'm not sure I should -- I did talk to Dr. Michetti," he said. "And I have another appointment in a few days."

"Well, that's your choice, I suppose, to keep things to yourself."

He tucked her in closer to him, sighing heavily. He knew exactly what she was feeling. "I'm not trying to keep it from you."

"You're trying to protect me. And avoid replaying things you didn't like the first time." She found a comfortable angle to lean against him without feeling a slight pain in her side. "But I can talk about disturbing things without compromising my health."

"I simply don't see that it would serve a purpose. You don't need to know everything that happened while you were in sickbay."

"Did Will say something to you about your being to blame for my injuries, because you should have known better?"

She didn't need confirmation beyond his emotional response to it. His hand went to her head, stroking her hair. "On one level, he was correct. It's always my responsibility. Always my fault."

"But you know I would never let you sidestep your responsibilities and try to keep me from going, if I'm needed."

"I suppose I do now."

"Bridge to Picard," came the usual interruption. "We're approaching Omicron Theta."

"I'm on my way." He hesitated, as she sat up and turned to look in his eyes. "I'll see you at dinner."

"I'll have to find someone to help me change into something more suitable."

He stood as she spoke, but turned to stare in consternation. "Help you?"

"I am forbidden from raising my arms above my head, or doing things that strain the connective tissues in my chest. There are a number of things I won't be able to do until the doctor says I can. So doing my hair and changing out of some of my clothing are going to be interesting tasks."

"Is that all you're forbidden to do? Move your chest?"

"She said my heart is doing fine, and that I can walk and talk -- light exercise only. But I guess I have to visit the salon every morning. I can't brush my hair, or pull a shirt on, or fasten the back of a dress."

Jean-Luc was thinking and openly looking her over. "I could help you."

"I'm sure you would enjoy that," she replied with a grin. "You could start by undoing the back of this one -- I'm going to take a long bath, since I can."

She stood and let him undo the back of the dress that Beverly had help her put on, and he lingered to run his palm up her back, then hurried for the door. "I'll see you after alpha shift."

"Definitely." He was gone without a backward glance; resisting temptation to linger with forward motion. Deanna pulled off the dress, one sleeve at a time, carefully. Perhaps the bath would loosen some of the tense muscles in her sides. Just standing up had given her pings of pain down her left side. "Computer, fill the bathtub with hot water, at my usual temperature."

She settled into the tub very, very carefully and sighed, enjoying the steam and the warmth of the water. Asking for some soothing music was next. Eventually, she would be hungry, or thirsty, but she would cross that bridge when she came to it.

Someone signaling for entry woke her. "Computer, what time is it?"

"Fourteen hundred twenty-two hours."

That was hours after Jean-Luc had left. Her skin felt soft and saturated, and her fingers were pruned. "Who is at my door?"

"Commander William Riker."

Deanna moaned at that. And Jean-Luc responded with concern, startling her. She smiled ruefully and carefully raised herself from the water using mostly her legs, reaching for a towel. Then carefully put on the fluffy green robe that waited for her on a hook. She thought about Jean-Luc, and hugged herself, imagining that he was doing it. He seemed to calm somewhat as a result.

Will was still waiting when she finally made her slow way out to admit him. "Sorry, I was in a bath," she said, hugging the robe around herself and sitting on the chair carefully. "How was the away mission? You did go, I gather?"

Will nodded and sat on the couch -- he planted his elbows on his knees as he did when preoccupied. "We found something -- it looks like a copy of Data."

"Oh," she exclaimed. "You mean another Data, or another android?"

"Hard to say. They look alike. Argyle is working on it with Dr. Crusher. How are you?"

"I'm as well as I was the last time we spoke. Happier now that I'm not in sickbay. They don't have bathtubs. And my bed is much more comfortable than theirs." She blinked at his moment of surprise. Smiled, gave him something to be startled about with a giggle.

"You seem happier," he commented. He looked away at the floor, then around the room. "How long?"

"I'm sorry?"

"How long have you been with him?"

Deanna stopped smiling, at that. "Why would I even tell you anything about it?"

"Friends tell each other -- "

"The only reason you want to know is to justify your own self-righteous anger," she blurted. "You're angry about it. You can stop being like this any time now. Your feelings aren't going to change anything, any more than they would have the week after you came aboard. You told me what you wanted, and I discovered that I agreed with that wholeheartedly -- I prefer keeping everything professional, with you. I like my friendship with you just as it is. Unless you're going to keep being angry, force me to back away out of self preservation. I want to be friends, Will. That hasn't changed, and it won't change unless you make it impossible."

He took a deep breath, at least, before starting again. Not out of anger, now -- he was frustrated, true. But he was also convinced he was right. "You're asking me to watch friends compromise their careers, Deanna."

"I was an officer when I stood in front of him to protect him," she exclaimed. "What compromise are you talking about? Are you making the case that he wasn't taking me along because he felt my skills would contribute to the mission? Because that's not true, either. I remember the briefing -- your wording was ambiguous but you weren't telling him he couldn't go, you were telling him I shouldn't go -- weren't you? I don't think he's the one with the problem."

"I've taken you on away missions -- "

"Will," she exclaimed, exasperated. "Honestly, I understand. I know how you feel."

"It was too dangerous," he exclaimed. "I would have taken security only, they were all trained for battle. I wouldn't have taken crew without that training."

"We didn't go there to fight," she shot back angrily.

"I was right about it, wasn't I? They attacked us. They killed you!"

Deanna shot out of the chair, twisting away to pace angrily, and immediately recognized the folly of engaging in this kind of debate, as stabbing pain shot through her chest and something felt as though it tore, and while she was gasping and trying to recover from that she lost her balance, stumbling against the footstool. Will was at her side immediately. She moved away from him, turning and twisting again without thinking, and regretted that almost as much as jumping out of the chair.

"You're in pain, let me take you to sickbay," he said urgently. "Deanna, please!"

"I'm sick of having the same conversation we had when I was supposed to marry Wyatt. You don't get to dictate the terms of my career or my relationships," she exclaimed. "I followed orders, Will. I did what I was supposed to do. I don't understand why you have a problem with us."

She stumbled for the door and out into the corridor, and ran into someone. A very familiar, angry someone. Jean-Luc caught her by the shoulders, and all at once she recognized what disarray she was in -- the robe falling open, her arms around her aching ribs and one hand pressing her shoulder where she'd felt the tearing sensation. Everything throbbed or stabbed or otherwise clamored for attention. He must have hurried down out of a reaction to what she was feeling. She took a second to take a breath, stop projecting her emotions so he wouldn't feel her pain any longer.

"I'm going to sickbay," she announced tearfully. "I was being stupid. Something's torn."

"You were supposed to be resting -- what happened?" Jean-Luc slipped an arm around her and tucked his hand under her arm, trying to support some of her weight. Or possibly just being ready to catch her if she fell.

"I got up too fast," she said. "Hurts." Now she was out of breath.

"Let's go, then."

"Deanna," Will said, pleading now. But she took a step and cried out when her shoulder started to burn -- she'd turned too quickly toward the lift. It was as though every normal movement she'd never really paid attention to was suddenly her worst enemy.

"I don't think I can walk without pain," she confessed.

"Picard to transporter room. Site to site transport, two people, to sickbay."

Beverly was scowling almost before the transporter finished materializing them in front of her. "What happened? Please tell me you weren't doing anything stupid," she said, coming to guide her slowly to the nearest biobed.

"I was all right until I stood up too fast -- my shoulder," she exclaimed. "OW."

Beverly's scan made her frown more. "Torn, and others are strained. You just stood up too fast?"

"Arguing with someone probably distracted her from what was good for her," Jean-Luc said. And quickly amended, "Someone who wasn't me." It probably saved him from a scolding; the doctor's anger diminished again.

"We'll fix this right up. Here's some painkiller," Beverly said, applying a hypospray to the base of Deanna's neck. "I hope you aren't planning to argue any more."

"I'll stop answering the door, yes. I should have stayed in the nice warm bath, it was so relaxing I fell asleep."

Jean-Luc stood to one side with crossed arms. When the door opened, he turned his head to watch Will come in, wary and standing away from the biobed he'd been leaning on. Will kept his distance.

"Is she going to be all right?"

Beverly shot him a look of frustration. "She'll be fine. It's painful, it'll probably take another day or two longer than it would have to heal, but she'll be back in class learning karate soon enough."

Will drooped a little. "I'm sorry, Deanna."

"Come talk to me when you're not angry. I don't want to argue with you again." Deanna sighed as Beverly closed the clamshell over her again. "I hate these things."

"Sorry, I know you're claustrophobic," Beverly said with a smile. "Maybe you should get therapy about that."

"Ha, ha."

She heard the door open and close. Jean-Luc came over once Beverly had moved off to get something out of a drawer. "Are you all right?" he asked softly.

"Yes. I'm sorry I was broadcasting all that -- I hope it didn't disturb you in the middle of anything."

"No. But I should get back to the bridge. I'll tell you about Data's brother later." He touched her shoulder, then brushed hair out of her eyes, his fingers gliding along her forehead lightly. Then he was heading out of sickbay.

Beverly returned seconds later, using another hypospray on her. "Just a few more minutes. I hope he tells Will to stay away from you."

"He wouldn't do that."

The doctor did a slight double-take. "He wouldn't?"

"It feels better. Are you going to keep me here again?"

"No. I think you'll be better off at home. But you need to tell Will to leave you alone if he comes back, at least until you can move freely. The regenerated tissue will continue to heal if you don't tear it again." Beverly watched the panel while the regenerator hummed. "You could...."

"I could what?"

The humming stopped. Beverly unclipped the regenerator and opened it, took Deanna's arm, and helped her sit up again. "Never mind. How does this feel?" The doctor slipped her hand inside the collar of the robe and probed along her collar bone.

"A bit sore, nothing like it was though. What were you going to say?"

"I thought it might be better if you stayed with someone -- if you fell down and couldn't get up, or passed out from the pain, having someone right there -- but I know you could always ask the computer for help. Think you can walk?"

Deanna stood up, slowly, and smiled at Beverly. "I think I'm all right. Thanks, Beverly. I'll take better care of myself this time."

"What was it you said once, that pain is educational?"

Deanna smiled -- that had been the captain, but no need to mention that. "See you in a few days? I think I'll be taking extra time to be lazy, give it a chance to heal more, before I start spending time on holodecks."

"Maybe I'll come see you," Beverly said. "Go on."

She was down the corridor and in the lift when she sensed the flickers of worry and fear, from some of the senior staff. She blocked it and braced against the sides of the lift, just in case. She was off duty. Nothing for her to do but get better. She made it back to the bath, added more hot water, took another soak, this time with lavender bath salts.

This time, when the door chime woke her from her long soak, she responded without even trying to get out of the bath. "Computer, let him in." A few minutes later, Jean-Luc called her name. "I'm in here. Come help me up?"

It startled him. "You're in the bath, aren't you?"

She sighed. "Are you saying you don't want to see me naked?"

It brought him to the door. She tried not to pull at anything, turning her head; he was peering in from her bedroom.

"I'm trying not to hurt myself again. I really don't want to go back to sickbay."

He came in slowly. His hands, when they slipped under her armpits to help, were steady. He supported her until she stepped out of the water and when she reached for her robe he grabbed it and put it over her shoulders, holding it while she slipped her arms into the sleeves. She tied the sash and turned around to smile at him.

"Thank you. It must be dinner time?"

"Almost, I think. If you're hungry."

"I can get dressed. Would you stick around and help me with that?"

"Yes."

Deanna looked him in the eye, touched his cheek to get his attention, and leaned to brush her lips across his. "I can get someone else to help me, ask one of the nurses, if you're not comfortable."

"I'm fine. Just -- " His hand slipped in the front of her robe, cupping her breast, and his mouth descended on hers. They swayed together, and she moaned into his mouth, her hands moving up the front of his uniform to his face.

"I wish I weren't so fragile," she murmured against his lips in between kisses.

It was probably what led to his pulling back, and then retreating to the living room for a minute while she selected something from her closet. She put on a bra and laughed at herself -- panties would be impossible unless she suddenly manifested telekinesis.

"Something wrong?" he called from the other room.

"It's just ridiculous, having all these ideas about having you take off my clothes and now I'm needing your help putting them all on. It hurts to breath, if I laugh too hard."

"I'm just sitting here thinking about the bridge. Let me know when you need help."

Deanna dropped the panties carefully on the floor, sat on the bed, stuck her toes through the leg holes, and failed. No way to bend even while sitting on the bed, without feeling the pulling on her ribs or in her sides. She gave up, let them fall on the floor and picked up the red wraparound, putting a hand in one sleeve and carefully pulling at the collar until her arm was in the other sleeve, then slowly bending to slip the other arm in. The left side tied to a ribbon inside the dress at the left hip, and at the waist above her right hip, which she managed with minimal twinges.

She emerged with a hair band and offered it to him. "Just pull it back and tie it up?"

"Does it bother you when it's down?"

"Not really. Are you preferring that I leave it down?"

He ran his fingers through her curls, along her left shoulder. "I do."

"Then I suppose we're ready to go. I'm not going to bother with shoes." She tossed the hair band on one of the end tables. "I can't do makeup without violating doctor's orders, though I thought about just the lipstick."

He gazed at her with a curious expression -- something between his thoughtful, intense look that he would have during a complex mission and his tired and relaxed smile. "You look fine," he said quietly. "Better than fine."

"You have quite a bias right now," she said with a shy smile.

Let's go open the wine." He took her hand, and surprised her by not letting it go in the corridor.

"What happened today, with Data and the other android?" she asked as they entered his living room. He settled her in a chair at the table and went to pick up the bottle of wine he'd left on the coffee table.

"Lore," he said. "The other android's name was Lore. He's gone now. He tried to make us believe he was Data, but we figured out he wasn't."

"Good. That's good news, isn't it?"

He brought the wine bottle to pour some in the two glasses that waited on the table in front of her. "Very good. And now we are on the way to a starbase, for that computer refit we're supposed to have."

"Is that what's making you so serious?"

He was quite disturbed by something, and doing his best to set it aside. He glanced at her, smiled a little -- very little. "I'm sorry. I've been thinking a lot today."

"Are you perhaps doing what I was doing, before? Having second thoughts?"

Jean-Luc sat and scooted the chair a little closer to her, and picked up a glass. Waited for her to follow suit. "Not second thoughts about you."

She bowed her head. "Will made a mistake. He's not any less of an officer than you believed he was."

"Oh, no, I'm not thinking that at all. I had a talk with him just before I came to get you. What I am questioning is whether the two of you can work well together."

That was not entirely unexpected. She nodded, and raised the glass to her lips to taste -- it was a rich, heavy wine, hints of fruit and smoke. She liked it. "What wonderful wine."

"I'm glad you approve. It's the last bottle I have from the Picard family vineyards."

She gaped at him. "But...."

"You were the special occasion I was waiting for."

Now she gaped at him, and then smiled.

"A toast," he said, tipping the glass slightly toward her. She touched hers to it with a soft ringing of glass against glass. "To happiness and home."

She smiled wider, and sipped the wine.

"What would you like for dinner? We have the best replicator on the ship at our disposal," he said, putting down his glass. He was kidding, of course. Trying to lighten his own mood.

"I'd like you to choose something for me -- something French. I liked what we had last time."

"All right, but turnabout is fair play. Choose something for me, from Betazed."

That led to interesting looks on their faces, gasping, and laughter. After recycling escargot and a pile of overly-spicy stuffed oskoid, they replicated something else, a lamb dish that she found to her liking. While they ate, she tried to get him to talk about something less charged than duty, or the ship.

"I'm sorry I'm preoccupied," he said at last.

Deanna finished the vegetables and the last bite of lamb. "I suppose you could always just talk about whatever it is."

"I don't want to make our relationship about Starfleet."

"Unfortunately, every relationship you have is about Starfleet," she said, picking up the wine glass to finish her second. "You're doomed."

He laughed at that, shoved his plate a few inches, and leaned back in the chair. "You may be right."

"Is it what you said before, about Will and I?"

"You told me you enjoyed working with him. Has that changed?"

"I don't think so. He's upset. He'll get over that."

Jean-Luc didn't seem convinced. He studied the bottle and tipped about an ounce of wine into her glass.

"Trying to get me tipsy? I'm already almost there."

"I know how I would feel, if I were in his place," Jean-Luc said. "But I know that I would not do anything like what he did today."

"You're trying to predict what he'll do?"

"I'm concerned. I can't predict what he'll do."

"All he did was try to talk to me. It wasn't his fault that I hurt myself, I was angry at him for doing the same thing. He can't care about me if I'm with someone else, apparently."

Surprisingly, Jean-Luc rolled his eyes. "Another way we're different, I suppose."

"I don't mean that he's in love with me. I mean that he seems to think he can't be my friend, if I am with someone else. That could change, if he decides it will. I don't know if he'll do that."

"Aha," Jean-Luc exclaimed. He stood up from the table. "Come adjourn with me to the sofa."

"As long as you promise not to break me. What do you mean, aha?" Deanna followed him and sat carefully, letting him put pillows behind her until she could sit up enough to not feel pressure or strain.

"I think I'd like to talk to him again tomorrow, and stop talking about him tonight."

"What would you like to do now?"

He leaned, and took a thick, heavy-looking book from the end table. Balancing it on her thigh, he opened it to reveal pictures. "This is my family album."

"Oh," Deanna exclaimed. He was presenting this to her with great seriousness, and she wondered if he had shown it to anyone else. She suspected not.

"My mother, before she married my father," he said, touching a beautiful portrait of a woman on the first page. "Yvette Gessard. She was a teacher."

"She's beautiful. I see her in your eyes."

It made him happy -- he'd loved his mother, and missed her still. When Deanna took his hand it shook him out of whatever memory he'd wandered off into, and he indicated the pictures on the next page were of his parents' wedding. He wandered slowly through pages of memories with her, and she revised the story that he'd told her -- added to it, fleshed it out, included some very happy moments he hadn't told her about, like singing around the dinner table together. One of the last pictures was of an older man who vaguely resembled Jean-Luc, holding a baby.

"My sister-in-law sent that to me. That's my brother and his son. I think the boy is six by now."

"Have you been to visit them?"

He shook his head, and felt sadness and regret, and some anger -- there had been a lot of bad blood with Robert, he'd said. He stared at the picture and sighed.

"You should go see him. Your nephew should know who you are."

"Robert wouldn't let me near him," he scoffed at once. "He'd be afraid I would poison him, make him want to be in Starfleet."

"You want me to believe that Robert will be just the same as he was the last time you saw him. I don't believe that for a minute. If you went and told him you wanted to make amends, he would do it."

"You're underestimating his stubbornness."

"I'd say I have a fairly good idea of it," she said with a grin. "He's your brother."

"He wouldn't budge, Deanna. He doesn't want to see me again."

"You wouldn't budge on your own rules about relationships with other officers. Who told you to change that?"

He huffed at it, not completely caving in to her point. "Maybe if we ever get back to Earth, for some reason."

"You'll go back eventually. Just like I'll go back to Betazed some time."

That put him into some serious contemplation of something else. Deanna closed the album, pulled it across her lap to set it aside, and leaned to kiss his cheek.

"You're tired. I should take you back to your quarters."

"I suppose, if you wish."

He actually considered it, but shook his head. "I'm not carrying you to sickbay in the wee hours of the morning because I rolled on you in my sleep."

"Or kissed me, or tried to have sex with me?"

"Or anything else -- are you really having the same dreams I have? Or were you teasing me?"

Deanna smiled innocently and batted her eyes.

"You're teasing me."

"I don't have much of an answer, unless we compare dreams. But I believe we have had a number of them in common. It's happened to me before."

Jean-Luc sighed at that. "Well. Perhaps we'll compare some other time."

"I agree -- talking about some of mine would be arousing, and I suspect that would be a conversation best left for when I'm not so stiff I can't move without pain."

He spent a moment being alarmed, probably she'd confirmed at least common content of his dreams and hers, and he shook it off at once. "Need help up?"

Deanna let him do that, and he walked her back to her quarters, where she imposed upon him to pull a large comfortable shirt over her head. She peeled off the dress under it, and let him help her out of the sleeves before he left her to go to bed. At least she got a kiss before he went.

She lowered herself carefully into bed, slid beneath the covers, and curled up on her side. She was asleep in minutes.


	7. Chapter 7

Jean-Luc hesitated at the door, but collected himself and walked in without signaling, and since the door opened without delay or a request for an access code he knew she had arranged with the computer for his unlimited access to her quarters. At the bedroom door he hesitated again.

"Good morning," she mumbled. She rolled over and started to sit up, wincing, which was enough to propel him to the bed and slide his hands in to support her shoulders. "Thank you. You're early."

"You slept in -- I'm late. I can't stay for breakfast. Feeling any better?"

"Yes, it doesn't hurt as much to move -- I have better range of motion than yesterday, I think, though it's still a bit sore in my shoulders. I'd like to put on one of my blue dresses, so I can spend some time with Guinan today."

This was his second day helping her get in and out of clothing, and his initial discomfort with his own physical response to her moments of nudity had passed as he recognized she wouldn't respond to his response. Deanna held her arms out so he could pull her short nightgown off her, and then hurried into the bathroom. He waited while she took a short sonic shower, and returned in her robe.

She selected underwear from a drawer, as he pulled a dress he liked from the closet. "We're docking at the starbase in the morning," he said. "Are you up to a few hours on the holodeck? I was thinking we could spend time in Rome."

"I'd love to. Are you busy today?"

"I am meeting with Will this morning." He'd postponed discussion on the matter of Deanna with the first officer, based on Will's mood after the argument with Deanna had sent her to sickbay. He'd kept things business only -- not kicking the same wound while it was too fresh only made sense. "And then I am having lunch with you, and taking you to Rome. Where we will talk about history, or your culture, or mine."

"And not what you'll say to Will, but that's all right. I'm going to talk to him tomorrow. I haven't seen him since the argument but I can sense that he's much calmer now than he was." She dropped a bra and panties on the bed next to the dress he'd laid there. Tilted her head thoughtfully. "You know, I really am feeling much better, less stiff. If we were really careful -- "

"Don't start that -- we need to give it a few more days. I'm not interested in hurting you." She'd started to make suggestive comments after dinner last night.

He stood behind her to help her put on the underwear, and by the time he dropped the dress over her head he'd resisted and set aside the urge to put his hands on her skin and kiss the curve where her neck became her shoulder. But she stepped backward until her back met his chest, and leaned against him, humming happily. His arms went around her from behind, his right hand finding her left breast and his left hand sliding low over her abdomen, pulling her hips back against his. Then he caught himself and let go.

"You don't have to hurt me," she whispered. "I'm perfectly happy to relax and let you do whatever you like."

He stepped away and grumbled under his breath. "I'm going to the bridge."

She slowly put her arms through the sleeves, proving she had improved -- she hadn't been able to manage that without wincing, before. Tugging at the skirt and waist to straighten it, she turned around as she adjusted the neckline. "I'll see you at lunch, then." Deanna came to kiss him, that brief brush of the lips that said good-bye for now, and surprised him by putting her arms around his neck.

"That didn't hurt," he said, knowing this as she had been letting them be connected as she had been doing for a few days.

It made her happy, in fact, her feelings washing over him -- it was more and more obvious that she loved him, which made him feel less anxious about the unpredictability of his own feelings. Every thought about her led to a smile, lately, as she responded in kind to his affections, wherever they were, regardless of whether they were together. It was an interesting phenomenon. He was becoming better able to ignore the random emotions she felt and to realize what was related to him. 

"I'll see you in a few hours."

She pulled away, backed away, and smiled at him. "I'll try to keep to myself, this morning, until you're done talking to Will."

"Probably a good thing to do." He left her bedroom, and as he left her quarters he could tell when she cut the connection -- he found he missed it, once it was gone.

Will caught up to him as he reached the lift. "How's she doing today?"

"Fine," Jean-Luc said without thinking about it. He turned to face the door. "Bridge."

"I'm sorry, that I lost my temper with her," Will said.

"Why are you telling me this?"

Will snorted. "She told you about our conversation."

Jean-Luc blinked, and glared at him. "No. She said she lost her temper with you, wasn't paying attention, and hurt herself."

"You aren't upset with me?"

The door opened, and Jean-Luc preceded him down the bridge. Data was in the center seat, and stood at attention as the captain and first officer approached. "All is well, Mr. Data?"

"Yes, sir. We are on course for Starbase 311."

"Then the commander and I will be in the ready room. You have the bridge until you are relieved."

Data smiled and gave the usual stiff nod, and retook the captain's chair. Jean-Luc spun and headed for the ready room. Will followed him. He immediately got himself coffee and croissant, and another coffee for Will, who took it with a little bemusement.

"Should I be upset with you, Number One?"

"I care about her, you know."

"And I know she cares about you. Is this meant to be upsetting to me?"

Will gave him that look, that said he suspected shenanigans. "You don't care, if we're friends, even though you know we were lovers before."

"As much as it may shock you, I have friends who were lovers before. Back in the day when we still made starships out of wood."

Will snorted and grinned. "Okay. So you aren't concerned. But are you upset with me?"

"I'm not certain why you are asking me this question. I do wonder if you will be able to continue working with her, or vice versa."

"If she lets me."

Jean-Luc narrowed his eyes at that. "Are you implying that I might allow her to have undue influence on my decisions?"

Will had a chagrined look as he drank a little coffee and started to slump in his chair. "Not at all. I think you haven't yet felt the wrath of the Betazoid."

That was somewhat disturbing, but after a moment of contemplation, Jean-Luc recognized two things. Will was relying on old information, and if Deanna had been correct regarding Will's feelings, likely would not be entirely supportive of Deanna's interest in him. Not that Will would deliberately undermine them -- but Jean-Luc remembered moments with Jack, where he had held his tongue rather than say anything that might undermine any relationship, even if it could have been considered a joke. There were ways to influence friends. That had been a conversation with the counselor early on, just after coming aboard, a tangent from a discussion of the ways word choice could influence diplomatic negotiations. This wasn't exactly a negotiation, but perhaps friendships with both parties could be preserved using diplomacy.

"Is she angry with you?"

Will's startled expression said that was not the anticipated response. "She was. You couldn't tell?"

"She mentioned being frustrated with your assumption that you couldn't maintain a friendship with her, if she were to marry Wyatt, and that she believes your anger about me is more of the same. I couldn't see how that could be so -- it doesn't sound right to me. Why wouldn't you be able to be her friend?"

Jean-Luc didn't quite look at Will, on purpose -- busied himself with taking a bite of his croissant and chasing it with some coffee. When he did glance up Will was watching him with a serious expression.

"Wyatt was different," Will said.

"He's a moot point, and gone. Are we going to have an issue with this, Will?"

His chest rose and fell in a silent sigh -- Will gave his head a shake as if not believing this. "I don't intend to make it one. Obviously she wants to make it an issue."

Jean-Luc raised his coffee, pausing. "I see," he said quietly, sipping.

"I didn't go in there looking for a fight," Will insisted. "All I wanted to do was see how she was. She accused me of being angry."

"You're asking me to choose to believe one of you over the other," Jean-Luc said. "But it's not my choice to make -- I don't care who's right. You can be angry and she can be angry. I want to know if this disagreement between you is going to be an issue for this crew."

That put iron in Will's jaw. "No, sir."

"I believe you know exactly what you need to do to maintain a friendship with Deanna. I also believe you know exactly what you need to do to be my friend. I can hope that you do the right thing, but I'm not about to interfere or even comment on the matter. I don't intend to let it influence me or the operation of this vessel."

Will softened somewhat, nodding. "All right. That's fair."

"You're dismissed, Commander."

Will stood and headed for the bridge. "Velocity tomorrow?"

"In the afternoon -- we'll be arriving at the starbase in the morning, I'll meet with the station commander when we get there, and you'll be arranging the leave schedule."

"Yes, sir," he said, striding out.

 Jean-Luc finished the croissant with satisfaction, turned to his monitor, and started to address the backlog of messages, deleting the invitation to the admiralty ball first. 

 


	8. Chapter 8

Deanna moved through the ship with a little more confidence. Her chest only hurt with the more extreme movements now, and Beverly had been impressed by how well she was doing, in her visit to sickbay after Jean-Luc had left. Mr. Mott had been more than happy to brush her hair and put it in a pretty braid with a few silver chains. As she approached Ten Forward she checked on Jean-Luc -- he was feeling calm, satisfied, and so she re-established a two-way connection with him. By the time she reached the door she was happily beaming.

"Deanna."

She turned at the sound of Will's voice. It wasn't a surprise that he was there; she'd sensed him coming and his brooding was not new, to her. "Good morning, Will."

He took a few seconds to appreciate her -- his smile was a reaction to hers, and she considered telling him why she was so happy to correct any supposition that it had anything to do with him. "Glad to see you're in such a good mood."

"I can honestly say I wish you were in a similar mood. I'm sorry that it frustrates you, whatever it is. If you'll excuse me -- "

"I'm sorry, about the other day. I'm sorry you were injured. I didn't intend to upset you."

"Apology accepted. I'm sorry that I can't make you happy," she said softly.

It had the impact she intended. His eyes flicked to her face, to her dress, to the floor. "I'm sorry that I didn't choose otherwise, when I came aboard. Things would be very different."

"Yes, I'm sure they would. I'd have had to transfer by now. I don't think I would be happy with you at all, Will. There have been changes since we were together, you know, for both of us. I jumped to the conclusion when we came aboard that we could just be together -- but after the past few months I know that it wouldn't have worked. So I have to thank you, for being careful. It made it possible for us to be good friends."

She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek -- a little low, but standing on her toes didn't feel right. She backed and turned on the balls of her feet toward the door, careful not to twist her body as she went into Ten Forward. He was frozen there in shock, staring after her.

Guinan was waiting for her, standing away from the bar and watching her come in. There were few people about, mid-morning. "Are you all right?"

"I am." Deanna glanced around at the scattered customers -- she smiled fleetingly when a couple of them smiled at her. "Would you have a cup of tea with me?"

The hostess inclined her head. Today she wore a large green hat, with a matching robe -- difficult to call it a dress. Guinan moved with her to the bar, then went around the end of it to prepare a pot of tea, bringing pot, water, and steeping basket to the counter. "I understand you're convalescing from an injury you received in the line of duty?"

"Yes. The doctor is insisting that I'm on medical leave for a couple of weeks."

"And there's other news that I've heard. The captain tells me that the nature of your relationship has changed." Guinan placed the lid on the pot, retrieved two mugs from underneath the counter, and tucked her hands in her sleeves to wait while the tea steeped.

"I know the two of you are good friends. I hope we can be as well."

Guinan's dark eyes were fathomless, and she wasn't smiling. Deanna didn't sense anything other than curiosity from her, and that was quite mild -- she wondered at times whether the hostess were able to put forth whatever she wanted her to sense. There were things about Guinan that had concerned her, initially, but the captain had implicit trust in the El-Aurian, and great respect. So Deanna had reserved judgment and so far sensed nothing that suggested Jean-Luc's trust was misplaced. He seemed to have good instincts about people.

"I think we will be," Guinan said at last. Her lips twitched into a subtle, secretive smile; that was her usual, from what Deanna had seen. Looking down, she poured their tea, fogging up the sides of the glass mugs, and placed one in front of Deanna.

The door opened while they sipped oolong, and Tasha hurried over. "Deanna, hi, how are you?" she exclaimed breathlessly. "I went by your quarters -- you must be feeling a lot better! I had a few minutes and thought I'd stop in."

"I'm much better, yes," Deanna said with a smile. "Aren't you supposed to be on duty?"

"I let Worf take tactical sometimes when it's quiet. It's good for him. He's still so anxious on the bridge." Tasha grinned at Guinan. "Hi, Guinan. Can I have some, too?"

"Yes, of course."

Tasha turned to look at Deanna, thought about something that made her immediately anxious, and pushed it down, as she turned back to the hostess with a smile to take the steaming cup offered.

"Everything all right, Tasha?"

Deanna would have ignored it, but Guinan had a knack. She looked at Tasha, to see the abashed expression that matched the anxiety and frustration Deanna sensed. "I think so. I think it will be."

"You don't like seeing friends struggling. It's going to be all right, Tasha," Deanna said.

"I guess. I hope so."

"You might be concerned about Will Riker," Deanna said. "I know he's standing outside fuming in the corridor, debating coming in here to address what he thinks he might change."

Tasha gaped at her, reminding her that she'd not fully explained the extent of Betazoid senses. A little startled, perhaps, that she was speaking openly with Guinan there.

"Guinan has her own abilities. I think she's more practiced in using it than I am in using mine, as well. And also, I had words with Will before coming in to have tea with Guinan, and I'd like to talk about more pleasant things than why Will is frustrated. He'll be fine, Tasha, and it won't change our friendship for you to express your worries to me -- I'm quite capable of having relationships with people who are on the outs with each other. My mother gave me plenty of practice."

A smile flitted across Tasha's lips at that. "Your mother is fantastic."

"Only if you didn't have to grow up with her trying to get her to calm down," Deanna said with a matching smile. "I do admire her, in some ways -- she doesn't back down when she really wants something."

"Will doesn't talk about what's going on. But I think he's really mad at the captain."

"His anger isn't directed at anyone, but it probably looks that way," Deanna said. "Tell me how you're doing with the captain."

Tasha flinched away and stared into her tea. "I guess it's all right. He said it wasn't really my fault that you got hurt. It didn't help me feel better about it."

Deanna put a hand on Tasha's shoulder. "I know, because feelings are like that for everyone -- they don't listen to your rational mind that knows better. You care and that means you feel as though you should do something, and when you could not you feel guilt. This isn't an unusual pattern for humans to follow. It's part of why I'd hoped you would go to counseling. So you would be able to work through this and feel better."

"How much counseling have you had?"

"Oh, lots," Deanna said with a grin. "We get it when we're training to be counselors. We get it sometimes because we're counselors. I also consult with other psychologists sometimes about difficult cases."

"What about you, Guinan?"

The secretive smile remained steady. "My people have a similar practice, but we don't charge people for it or call it counseling."

"There are many roads to the same end, after all," Deanna added. "I'm hoping people will stop having nightmares about what happened to me, soon."

Tasha's head jerked back and her blue eyes went wide. "You can sense that?"

"I can. It was what I was reacting to when I was in sickbay. You were probably called in to help, when I acted up in sickbay, weren't you?"

"Security was called. I heard about that later, it was usually off shift. But -- " Tasha struggled with it for a bit. "Why didn't you say something before?"

"I'm starting to process my experience myself now that I'm feeling better. That's natural, too. Tasha, don't worry about me -- I've had empathy all my life, and it's not going to hurt me to continue having it. It's the way I am."

"So how is it going, with Jean-Luc?" Guinan said softly, her smile more than slight.

Deanna giggled and sipped tea, shooting her a sly look. "Not going to talk about that."

Tasha gaped at them, each in turn, delight in her eyes. Guinan leaned across the bar. "I think if you were to talk about it, you're with the right crowd -- Tasha's duty is to keep everything secure, and I'm not an officer at all.

"It's fine," Deanna exclaimed, shrugging a little.

Guinan leaned a little more, and Tasha came in a little more as if expecting they would be whispering. "You came in here with a smile that said things you don't want to say, Deanna," the hostess murmured.

She covered her face. "It's not what you think."

"Uh huh." Guinan moved off, going around the end of the bar and heading over to greet another crew member coming into Ten Forward.

Tasha chuckled and patted Deanna's shoulder. "I think you should be happy as you are, everywhere. It makes the captain look good."

"What?" Whipping her head to the right that fast sent a little twinge down her shoulder.

"Well, it's a starship, and he was in sickbay literally every two or three hours for two days, and you really don't think Starfleet officers are that unobservant, do you?"

Deanna blinked and stared at her for a moment, then exhaled. It made sense. She'd known, even when he had mentioned relying on the discretion of medical professionals, that it wasn't likely -- doctor - patient confidentiality covered health information, not visits to sickbay. Even he surely understood that. But he'd come in anyway, repeatedly. And now that this train of thought had been activated she thought more about what Will had said yesterday, and sighed.

"I need to go, Tasha. I'll see you later."

"I'm -- " Tasha was confused, probably by the sudden mood change.

"It's not about the captain. I'm just... tired, I'm still on medical leave you know. I guess I've done a little more than I should have this morning. Come see me later? After alpha shift?"

"Okay."

She left Tasha drinking her tea and headed for the gym, following her sense of where people were, and found Will in the far reaches of the complex, working at a weight machine. When he noticed her approach he stopped and extricated himself from the machine. He wore the standard issue gray sweats, with fingerless gloves, and used the back of one to wipe sweat from his forehead.

"Everything all right?"

Deanna glanced at the only other person in the room, a young man changing the settings on a different machine in the far corner. "Of course. I realized that I forgot to tell you one thing -- I should have thanked you, for doing your job by the captain. Because it's in my best interests that you keep doing that, as well."

He blinked, and the slow, very-slight smile was only marginally reassuring. He still felt frustrated. There was now a shift; the determination lessened and the beginnings of begrudging acceptance inspired a little hope. "Okay."

"Tomorrow we'll invite you in for dinner. Unless you have plans for leave?"

The smile warmed somewhat. "No, I can be there."

"Good. Hopefully I'll be able to do my own hair and put on my own clothes, by then," she said offhandedly, as she turned to go.

"God," she heard him mutter, as he sat down again with a clank of the machine.

Smiling again, she stifled laughter on her way to her quarters, feeling quite pleased. She found, as she entered her bedroom, that was indeed tired. So she did as she'd told Tasha she would. 

Rising from the nap a while later, she checked her hair, left her quarters, and as she walked the corridor to the captain's quarters rolled her shoulder to ease a little soreness that had developed as she slept. He was there and already putting things on the table for lunch. Without a word, he came to her as she entered and massaged her shoulder gently.

"I asked Will to come for dinner tomorrow night," she said.

"I thought you were up to something -- you said you'd talk to him tomorrow. Did he come looking for you?"

"I was almost in Ten Forward when he found me. I apologized to him for losing my temper and thanked him for looking out for our best interests, and while it doesn't change his feelings it did make the point that I do value his friendship and want him to do whatever he needs to do as first officer. I hope. He seems to be all right."

"Good. I suspect he'll be inclined to take his own ship when it's offered, anyway, and then you won't be subjected to his feelings again."

"I don't know about that. What did you talk to him about?"

"I told him he knows how to be a friend and that I wasn't going to let anything impact the crew."

She nodded pensively. "So, nothing about how you feel."

"That would do nothing good. With all due respect to your profession, feelings sometimes are simply irrelevant."

"You need to give me a little more context than that," she exclaimed, glaring at him. He backed a step, letting go of her shoulder.

"Let me rephrase," he said carefully. "Feelings are sometimes more of a hindrance, when it comes to negotiating the peace."

She crossed her arms, refusing to react to the stab of pain in her left shoulder. 

"Deanna," he said, trying to appeal to her with a smile and a shrug.

"No wonder they put counselors on ships," she grumbled. "What are we having for lunch?"

"Anything you want. I replicated salad."

Deanna went to the table and let him pull out a chair for her. The plate of greens, nuts, and small pieces of orange seemed acceptable, especially when she noted that he had put the dressing on the side. "Feelings are useful in any negotiation, as Captain Picard seems to think."

"Captain Picard has been known to be wrong." Now he was just teasing, feeling a little apologetic and regretting the assertion -- it was probably a testament to how relaxed he felt being with her, that he had made the statement without editing or really thinking about it. She abandoned the pretense of ire and glanced up with a smile as he returned from the replicator with glasses of water. He hesitated after putting the glasses on the table, looking down at her, contemplating, and then the chime sounded.

"I have to wonder who they would interrupt without me," he grumbled. "Come in."

"I would think the answer to that is fairly obvious," Deanna said, picking up her fork. 

Data strode in with a padd in hand, halted in the center of the room, and stared at Deanna in a rather obvious android moment of surprise. "Counselor."

"Hello, Data," she said, giving him a friendly smile. 

Data cocked his head, then turned to the captain and extended the padd. "I have completed my detailed report of what transpired between Lore and I, Captain."

"Thank you, Mr. Data. I hope you are able to take some leave after we arrive at the starbase."

Deanna almost told him that Data probably didn't require the time off, but suspected he already knew and was deliberately treating the android as he would any member of the crew. He had said that Data could be sensitive to such differences. 

"I am uncertain as to what I would do on leave on a starbase. The options are quite limited."

"There is apparently a small cybernetics conference, on Torgan Four, which is just a few hours away," Deanna said. When Jean-Luc looked askance at her she added, "I asked the computer about options within a reasonable distance. There are a couple of such conferences, as well as a resort. If Beverly cleared me for it I wouldn't mind taking a walk on a beach on Seldonia, myself."

"Thank you, Counselor. I will consider that. Good afternoon, Captain." Data departed at his usual brisk pace.

"Now he's going to ask someone about why I would be eating lunch here," Deanna said. "Hopefully it will be Will or Beverly."

"Or you?" Jean-Luc went to his chair and dropped the padd next to his plate. "Why would he ask anyone at all?"

 "As usual, a keen interest in developing further his understanding of humanity as well as other cultures. He sometimes asks me questions about Betazed -- he was fascinated by Homn and his gong, and wanted to know if my mother's behavior were typical of Betazoids in general, which led me to discover that some things about us are difficult to describe to an android."

He started to eat his salad with some serious contemplation and a growing trepidation.

"Mother isn't going to bother you," she said after a moment of consideration.

"No?" He had difficulty believing that, but knew she was convinced of it. 

"She likes you. I don't mean that in the sense she asserted it, but she respects you and only teased you because she could tell you were an easy mark. She enjoys people, but I'm afraid she grew up in a very insular environment and doesn't always understand how to fit into groups of individuals from varying backgrounds, and also Starfleet makes her anxious due to the loss of my father, who was an officer, and when she's anxious she retreats into the state she was in. She really did not want to force me to marry Wyatt. She thought you were the better choice."

That led to his dropping the fork on his plate with a clatter. "Your mother knows about us already?"

"She wasn't invading your privacy. She's perfectly comfortable invading mine, however, and she knew well enough that I was attracted to you. Some of what she said was actually intended to tease me, more than you. And no, I haven't told her that we're together. I'll have to at some point but there's plenty of time to worry about that later." Deanna shoved a wad of leaves in her mouth and chewed, thinking about what a messy conversation that would be. "I'd like to postpone what will likely turn into an hour of her extolling the joys of grandchildren and the followup, an hour of wedding planning. The thought of it makes me shudder -- not the subject matter, but the manner in which she would expect me to handle it."

"Hm. I can't wait to see what nightmare awaits me tonight," he commented dryly.

She put her hand over an eye and leaned her elbow on the table. She hadn't imagined the scenario, and thinking about how her mother had treated him and his dislike of her put her stomach into knots.

"Deanna, I don't care." He tugged at her arm until he could take her hand after pulling it away from her face. "If I didn't care about a thousand crew watching me visit you in sickbay five times a day, why would your mother's antics bother me?"

"I still don't always feel like this is a good idea," she murmured. "I don't want to embarrass you, either."

He shook his head. "You're not embarrassing. And you're not supposed to listen to your anxiety."

"Are you aware that we're hopeless?"

Jean-Luc laughed, let go of her hand, and started to eat again. "Never." He glanced at her again. "You seem to be moving around much more naturally than before. I'm starting to believe you really are better."

"It must be all the hot baths and lovely massages."

"You're just saying that to encourage more of them. Fortunately, they are a renewable sort of gift to give."

"I'm hoping to return the favor, you know. I wouldn't mind if you joined me in the bath."

He finished what was left of his salad and did not comment, letting his feelings speak for themselves. "Did you want to change before we go to the holodeck?"

"It depends on how much walking we intend to do. These shoes aren't good for that."

Jean-Luc looked at her with an expression and a surge of emotion that she hadn't expected. "We could stay here and talk. Go to the holodeck later."

"You have something we should talk about? I would be fine with that."

He smiled, but it was the wincing sort that people would adopt when broaching a subject they didn't want to discuss. "Dr. Michetti thinks that I should talk to you about what happened."

Deanna stood, and took her plate and his to the recycler. "Then we should do that. The last nightmare wasn't as bad, I think, but it's obviously still bothering you."

"You're really channeling my dreams?"

"Yes, I have to confess that I have. It wasn't intentional. And that's actually embarrassing to me."

He followed her to his couch, and sat slightly apart from her. It was a posture not unlike the ones they'd taken, when she would sit on the couch in his ready room with him to attempt to be his counselor -- she angled toward him slightly, and he adopted a stiffer upright posture. He sighed, and shifted into a more relaxed pose, raising his elbow to prop it on the back of the couch.

"Tasha told me that you never figured out what triggered the attack," she said, hoping that would help him start. He already felt the dread and some residual pain at remembering it.

"She told you what happened," he half-asked.

"No. She told me how she felt, and apologized for her failure to protect me adequately. She was terrified that I was dead, and that you were going to die with me."

That startled him. Clearly, he hadn't had the same kind of conversation with Tasha, and it made Deanna regret telling him -- horrified her, that she had revealed something to him like that. He gazed at her with sober, wide eyes.

"I won't tell her you told me, though it impresses upon me further the professionalism she showed -- she was composed and in control despite those feelings," he said. "I had no idea she was frightened. Alarmed, yes. Angered."

"Anger is a secondary emotion," Deanna said with the weary acceptance of someone who had confronted anger over fear, anger over pain, anger over nearly everything, in her office time after time, with people who wanted to avoid facing the primary emotion in play. "You know that. You've done that too."

His mouth set in a disapproving line, as he proved she was correct. Probably thinking about Q. "I wasn't thinking about dying myself. I was more overwhelmed by...."

The sentence completed itself in Deanna's head, as she realized what she was ashamed she had not thought about -- she started to cry, out of her own anguish at the thought of it. "We were connected when it happened. You felt me die. I'm so sorry," she blurted, moving without thinking about it to put her arms around him. His own arms only tightened around her after a stunned moment of recognizing that she wasn't feeling much pain, only some mild discomfort in the rib cage.

"I've felt that way before," he said quietly after they spent moments swaying together, and her tears had ebbed. "I was stabbed through the heart when I was an ensign."

They parted by mutual intent. She knew the makeup had to be streaking her face, but she didn't care. "How?"

He shrugged -- she'd never seen him so sheepish. "Picked a fight with a Nausicaan."

Deanna snapped her mouth shut so she wouldn't gape open-mouthed at that. "That's...."

"Ridiculous," he finished for her.

"I wasn't going to say that. Young human men pick fights they can't win. But that sounds... suicidal." She watched him wagging his head in shame. "Did you tell Dr. Michetti this?"

"What? No," he exclaimed, as if that would be the last thing he would ever consider doing.

"Jean-Luc," she said with a sigh, taking his hand, "you experienced a trauma that reminds you of another trauma. That's significant. Please tell her?"

"What good would that do? That was years, decades ago."

She sighed again, thinking about his reaction to simply mentioning it as a case in point. "It would help you to not feel as upset about it to process it. Have any of the nightmares been about your incident with the Nausicaan?"

He didn't want to, but his dismay confirmed it.

"Please consider talking to her about it? Please," she cajoled, then inspiration struck. "I'd like to share pleasant dreams with you again. Not be kicked in the shins while you're having nightmares."

His brow furrowed as he bridled at her obvious attempt to manipulate. Then he sighed and let his head fall forward. "Why did I want to tell you anything?"

"You haven't asked me why I'm not traumatized."

That put another wrinkle in his brow, as she let him think about that. "You've sensed other people die before," he said at last.

"Yes. I was also worried about you. When I was semi-lucid in sickbay, I could tell you were afraid, worried, but you were alive and that was enough to reassure me. I'm not afraid to die."

"You're not afraid even in the face of death," he said, not quite sure he heard that correctly.

"Betazoids think differently about death. About many things, actually. You could say that in essence, we're Jungian -- we have a collective consciousness, rather than a collective unconscious, and when I'm on Betazed I can sense it well enough. I remember my grandfather, as so many of my family do, so when we are together he is in a sense alive and conscious. My father is not. This is why my mother struggles so much with his loss, to this day."

That completely derailed the conversation about her injury, as he became intrigued by this facet of a culture he didn't yet understand. "That's not in books."

"You've read books about Betazed?"

Another sheepish smile. "I had to do something while you were in sickbay."

She wanted very much to kiss him, settled for beaming at him, and decided to refocus, continue that line of conversation later. "You were holding me, when you were beamed into sickbay."

A long, slow inhale, before he replied. "I was not rational, at that point."

Deanna thought about the emotions from his nightmares, the ones she recalled anyway. "You were despairing."

"I thought I'd lost you." He wasn't able to keep looking at her face. "I thought you were gone forever. When I came to, and Beverly told me you were going to live and would be waking from the anesthesia in the morning, I -- I decided, that none of it mattered any more. I didn't care about what anyone knew, about us. I don't care what anyone thinks."

Deanna covered her face with her hands, rather than look at him or burst into tears -- held her breath for a moment because she couldn't really breathe anyway. When she recovered well enough she put her hands in her lap and glanced at him. He was watching her with a concern he didn't bother to hide.

"It's madness," she exclaimed. "If I were a counselor talking to me about this situation I would be so worried. But I can't tell myself not to fall in love with you. I think I'm a few days too late, in fact."

It made him happy, and then it made him grin with a mischief she had not ever seen him exhibit. "I'm irresistible," he exclaimed. "And I'm always right."

She laughed at it and didn't think twice, grabbed at a pillow and swung it at him. Then she was reminded that twisting at the waist that way was still not a good idea, and the wince brought him out of that joyful mood in an instant. Which she regretted.

"It's all right. Nothing damaged, it was just a little pain. I forgot all about it -- you were being so ridiculous and I was so happy, I completely forgot."

"You're sure? I can carry you to sickbay."

Another laugh, but the moment was gone, and now she actually started to feel tired again. "No, that would hurt your back, and then we'd both be miserable."

"You're tired," he said. "It's a good thing we didn't go to the holodeck."

"Was there anything else you intended to tell me?"

"Oh, there might have been a few things," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "I told you already, but you were unconscious at the time."

She smirked at that. "You could tell me again. Make sure I heard you."

He shrugged. There were obviously a lot of things he would have difficulty putting into words.

"I might just fall asleep here. You could tell me then."

He lost the mischievous glint in his eyes. "You said you'd been taking naps. You should do that."

They stood up together. She hesitated, looking at him, and instead of leading off toward the door he stepped back to let her come out from behind the coffee table. Then he put his hand on her back and guided her toward his own bedroom door.

"Jean-Luc?"

"You can nap here. You've done it before. If you need anything, I'll be looking at the details on the computer upgrade."

She stopped at the side of the bed with him, and leaned in to kiss him. Unlike the last dozen or so kisses, he lingered and held her in his arms, and invaded her mouth -- when she started to feel pressure in her ribs he let go, backed a few steps, and looked at her with open desire. He felt such love for her, but said nothing and left her there.

When she woke much later she recognized at once that he was no longer alone. She sighed and hugged the pillow she was using, and stayed where she was. Judging from their moods, the captain and first officer were discussing ship's business. He knew she was awake; she sensed that recognition, and some affection, and a little warning.

So she stayed put. Sprawled, and stretched, and thought about the dreams she'd had about him. It was nice to lounge and be drowsy and dreamy. When he came back into the bedroom she smiled up at him, her hair loose around her head, her arms wide.

"Hello," she murmured. "Something going on?"

"Not much. You've slept all afternoon."

"Hmm, should I get up for dinner? I'm not hungry yet."

To her surprise he came closer and instead of sitting on the edge of the bed, leaned and came down on top of her then started to kiss her again. When she started to move he reached up and pinned her hands above her head.

"Don't move," he mumbled against her cheek.

"What if I do?"

He chuckled at that. "You'll make me reverse course." His fingers were already pulling up the skirt, then working gently at the panties he'd put on her that morning.

She tried not to move, but he made that difficult by being far too good at using his mouth -- he hardly had to do much at all, she had always been incredibly responsive to emotional feedback. That he enjoyed her moments of rapture made it better. While she quivered and anticipated he moved off the bed.

"Jean-Luc?"

"Patience," he said, heading into the bathroom.

 Her back ached a little, after the fact -- she'd obviously arched up into the high of orgasm. But she didn't care. He returned naked, and she smiled up at him, enjoying the sight of him -- he was not typical of many human men she had met. He was neither obsessed about fitness nor completely lax -- muscular, fit, without tattoos or other adornments she had seen on men with more swagger and flash.

"I'm glad you changed your mind."

He smirked at that. "I think my mind has lost the fight -- you are more than I bargained for."

She reached over as he arrived at the side of the bed. He was a little taken aback as she cradled his mostly-erect penis in her hand. She wrapped her fingers around it gently and caressed slowly down the length of it.

"You're sure I'm not going to hurt you?" he asked quietly.

"No, I'm sure you'll try not to hurt me, and I'll try not to hurt you." It was a more general statement than the situation required, but he understood it in both contexts.

Jean-Luc joined her on the bed and spent a few minutes removing her dress. It wasn't the usual progression, she thought, as he touched her -- he was definitely aroused but went about it in an almost methodical way. But that wasn't right either -- exploring, she decided, as his palm skimmed down her hip and thigh, and she let him nudge that leg away as he rolled and placed a knee there while holding himself over her and kissing her along her clavicle. Tasting her, grazing along her throat while she rolled her head away to expose more of it. She really tried to be receptive but found herself gripping his shoulders as he started to become more intense -- it was typical that penetration was the point at which it became difficult for him to be so leisurely. And she wished, in retrospect, that she had stopped the two-way connection before this started; the minute she felt a small pain in her chest he pulled out and lay across her panting.

He groaned when she reached down between them and took him in hand, kissing him -- it took very little time to get him to come and then he lay for a bit in such a drained state with most of his weight on her that she worried about him. Deanna put her hand on his head where it lay on her chest, as he didn't seem able to move.

"Jean-Luc?"

He seemed to come back from it a few minutes later, as his breathing ceased being so labored. Moving off to sit on the edge of the bed, he spent another minute resting there. "It happens after an orgasm. I'm fine."

"Post coital dysphoria -- I've heard of it."

He raised his eyebrows at her. "There's a name for it?"

"And there is treatment for it. If you find it disturbing -- it's not too upsetting now that I know it's not something to worry about. Would you care to join me in a bath? I feel sticky for some reason."

"For some reason." He watched her sit up carefully. "You're sore."

"Not in pain, though. And it will be better in the bath. Computer, fill the tub with hot water, at my preset temperature."

He let her recline in his arms, in the bath. It made it that much better.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The one with the Bynars. http://www.chakoteya.net/NextGen/116.htm
> 
> Angel One was next in the lineup, but I swapped the episode positions for the sake of the narrative. Deanna and Tasha will still get to tease bare-chested Riker.
> 
> The Bynar episode is another one where Marina must have been on a cruise, or perhaps getting a facial. No sign of Troi. Of course, she would have ended the episode since she would have sensed they were "definitely up to something." Picard would have helped them, and there's no tension in resolving things like that. 
> 
> And the question of the hour -- while it kept Picard on board, it makes no sense that he just walks into an occupied holodeck where Riker is making out with a chick. He could be in there doing anything and the captain can violate his privacy on a whim? What if he's rolling in super glue and feathers, and running around quacking? Anyone can just roll in there and take a video? So not cool.
> 
> Also, we are simultaneously told that the Bynars designed an incredible artificial woman who charms Riker and Picard utterly, yet they are incapable of asking for help because they are so binary they can only imagine Starfleet will tell them yes or no -- no other options like making a deal or offering payment or anything. ????? >:-{ ?????? WTF episode writers?
> 
> A good bit of the dialogue is snurched from the episode, with some filling out added in around it that fits with the story at hand. If the French is bad, it was bad in the episode.

"So you're going to the spa for the rest of the day?"

Deanna slowly, carefully arranged her hair, without sudden movements. It told him that she was still stiff and sore, because she would push her limits and aggravate the healing tissue, still. "I'm scheduled for a massage, followed by a sauna and a facial. Then I'll get ready for our dinner out, I want to find the right dress."

Jean-Luc started to feel a little apprehension at the thought of her in the right dress. She turned from the mirror at her dressing table and stared at him for a moment. "I'm simply not sure I want to share, if you're in the right dress."

That led to a sarcastic twist of a smile, and happy Betazoid eyes. "You've changed your mind, then?"

"It's a good restaurant. I'm looking forward to it, especially if you're with me."

She turned to put a comb in her hair and rose. "You have anything planned?"

"I might spend a little time in the holodeck."

"I'm glad you let me spend the night last night." Deanna came to him and draped herself against his chest, and kissed him again. Then she was off and heading for the door.

"Have fun. I'll be ready and waiting at eighteen hundred hours."

When she was gone, he sighed heavily, then realized he was still standing in her quarters, instead of his own -- he was finding himself caught up in her, when they were together. It was the rush -- he'd been there before. What he hadn't done was to negotiate the way to something like what his friends the Crushers had had. Having her spend the night in his bed had been satisfying, to a point. Having her to talk to, having someone warm and female pressing up against him, all well and good. But he'd had difficulty getting back to sleep after waking up, due to the novelty of having someone in bed with him. Too much of a good thing could be overwhelming. So, he reasoned, spending the day apart was a good thing.

He swung through the bridge and left again, and went down to holodeck four, and found it occupied. That wasn't unusual, though the crew had been encouraged to take time off on the starbase during the refit. He almost left, but a change on the display caught his eye -- it was Will Riker, judging from the console.

Jean-Luc frowned at that. He didn't remember the holodecks putting up a display of the occupants that way before. He thought he had read, specifically, that identity wasn't indicated -- that users' privacy would be respected. The only reason he could think of that it might be changed would be a deliberate open invitation, to join him in the simulation. That the door sighed open when he approached it added to that assumption.

When he strode in, it looked like a scene from one of his Dixon Hill stories -- a classic smoky barroom with jazz ensemble playing in the corner. He didn't immediately notice Riker. There were several couples in intimate clinches shuffling around the dance floor. He picked up a glass dish from a table -- an ash tray, he remembered, something to use while smoking a cigarette or cigar -- and put it back, took a step, and realized he was just a few feet from Riker -- his first officer was kissing a holographic woman in a slinky red dress. And before he could retreat from the simulation Riker noticed him and turned abruptly. 

"Oh, I'm sorry, Number One. I didn't mean to interrupt." Jean-Luc gestured at the door and turned to go.

"No, it's all right. Come on in." Riker was a little puzzled, but put on a polite smile. Perhaps the display hadn't been an open invitation, after all.

"You picked a wonderful locale. This is something I might have chosen myself."

To his surprise the woman spoke. "Aren't you going to introduce me?"

Will smiled, almost proudly. "Captain Picard, this is Minuet. Minuet, Captain Jean-Luc Picard."

"Enchantee. Comme c'est merveilleux de vous voir ici," the woman said, extending a hand.

He took it, shocked by the sudden change of language. "Incroyable! Vous etes Parisienne?"

The beautiful simulation of a woman smiled, in what appeared to be genuine pleasure. "Au fond, c'est vrai, nous sommes tous Parisiens."

"Out, au fond, nous sommes tous Parisiens. The spirit of that city can always enchant my soul."

"I have been hoping to meet you," she replied, with convincing enthusiasm.

That was more than a little startling, as he considered it. "Oh. Have I been the subject of conversation?"

"Indirectly. Come, join us, Jean-Luc. A glass of wine?" A wave of her fingers, at a nearby table with two half-filled wine glasses on it. Will was already in motion, leading Minuet back to it.

"Thank you."

The hologram continued to act as if she were quite self aware - it was an amazing program. "Will was saying how much he enjoys this assignment. It's a credit to you. For a ship and crew to function well it always starts with the Captain. You set the tone."

  
"At the moment, it's you who are setting the tone." Jean-Luc gave Will an incredulous look. "The sophistication of this programming is remarkable."

"In what way?" Minuet asked.

There was something almost unsettling, about this woman, the more he talked to her. The simulations he had run had not had this kind of character in them. "The holodeck has been able to give us woodlands and ski slopes, figures that fight and fictional characters with which we can interact, but you, you're very different. You adapt. You spoke to me in French." And, she was aware of the ship, and its crew, as they were -- not as characters in this bar. Fascinating.

"It was very simple. When I heard your name, I merely accessed the foreign language bank."

"That's very impressive." And improbable, for a holodeck character to knowingly access the computer and call it out as such.

"She's amazing," Will exclaimed, with more fervor than expected.

"Why, thank you, Will," she exclaimed -- and matched his warm and affectionate tone. Jean-Luc listened to the woman banter with Will, speechless, trying to understand what this could mean.

Then Minuet glanced at him suddenly. "We should find someone for you to dance with -- Giselle," she exclaimed.

"No, no," Jean-Luc said. With a glance at Riker, he went on." She's so very different from the images we've experienced on the holodeck, isn't she? She's more intuitive."

"It's as though she's been plugged into my subconscious. She already knows what I want her to say before I'm aware of it myself." Will didn't seem at all taken aback by it.

"I suppose it's an understandable progression. Computers make decisions based on inputs and we humans give off a multitude of subtle signs that communicate our emotions." But there was something about this that still made him uneasy.

Will was gazing at Minuet, and she was fondly meeting him gigawatt for gigawatt. "It's uncanny. I could develop feelings for Minuet, exactly as I would for any woman."

Jean-Luc smiled at that. It had been two days ago, that he'd been upset at Deanna. Last night he'd come for dinner and chatted with some discomfort, but appeared more settled and accepting. Now he was falling for a hologram? "Doesn't love always begin that way? With the illusion being more real than the woman?"

Minuet laughed -- she was a shade too pitch-perfect, he thought. "Oh, Jean-Luc, spoken like a true Frenchman."

That was the final straw. "Well, I think I'll be leaving." 

"Oh, don't go," she cried, her volume and her pitch rising as if in genuine distress.

He glanced at Will. "Two's company."

Will smiled at it, satisfied, but Minuet persisted and finally concern registered in Will's eyes as she rose quickly to take two steps to pursue Jean-Luc. "We have time. There's no rush. I'd really like it if you would stay."

"This is your diversion, Number One, not mine. I'll just go down to the next available holodeck."

Now the woman clung to his arm. "Wait! We haven't danced."

"I don't dance." He pulled his arm free, but she persisted. Now it was becoming tedious. 

"Then some more wine," she exclaimed, though he hadn't touched the glass he'd been given.

"No, thank you." He started to walk with a more determined stride.

"Wait! Please! Please, don't go. You can't. Not yet."

It finally seemed to be registering with Will that something wasn't right, now that she was hysterical. "Why? What's the matter? Why can't he leave?"

"Exit," Jean-Luc called out. The doors appeared, and immediately as they started to open the red alert klaxon was obvious. He stopped in the open door and slapped his comm badge. "Captain to Bridge. Situation report."

When there was no response, Will tried, with the same result, then exchanged a concerned glance with Jean-Luc.

"Computer, explain Red Alert," Jean-Luc demanded.

"Initiated as a programmed response. The magnetic field containing the antimatter had weakened. There was no fail-safe available."

"Why wasn't I notified?" This was unacceptable. Something was wrong, or he would have been.

"Unknown."

"Present condition?"

"The magnetic field is now restored. Containment is restored. Propulsion is at maximum efficiency."

"Locate Lieutenant Commander Data." He stared at Minuet, who was now looking very serious and concerned. Which was, for a holographic character, very odd indeed.

"Not on board the Enterprise."

"Explain."

"All Enterprise personnel except the Captain and First Officer have been evacuated."

"Evacuated? Was the condition that critical?"

"Yes."

"Are we still docked at the starbase?" Will asked, stepping around the table and chairs and crossing his arms.

"Negative."

Jean-Luc wished at times that they had given the computer conversation lessons. "Position report, computer."

"Co-ordinates four one five nine point two six by eight one nine two one by three one two. Heading two three three mark four five."

"Destination?" The heading was a giveaway that they were in motion.

"Planet Bynaus in the Beta Magellan system."

"The Bynars," Will exclaimed, as if it weren't obvious.

"You're part of this," Jean-Luc exclaimed, pointing at Minuet.

She didn't look ashamed or even regretful. "Yes."

"They make you the lure to keep me here," Riker said, sounding as defeated as any man who had been played.

"Yes," she said, now sounding a little apologetic -- very little.

"What about me?" Jean-Luc asked.

"Your being here was just a fortunate happenstance." 

"What do they want with the Enterprise? What's their purpose?"

"I'm not programmed to give you that information."

Jean-Luc turned toward the corridor outside, and strode out. "Come on, Number One. We've got to regain control of our ship."

They found only the quartet of collapsed Bynars on the bridge. It was eerie, walking the corridors washed with the red light of the red alert beacons. Eerie to be on the bridge and have none of the crew present. 

"Nothing seems out of order -- other than we've established a standard orbit around Bynaus," Will said from tactical. 

Jean-Luc sighed, and sat down at the helm. "Let's contact the starbase."

"Something odd -- I noticed before this all started that the Bynars were doing a lot of work that didn't make sense. There's a single file taking up all our free memory. The computer's reacting sluggishly -- I'm having difficulty -- there." Will finished a series of commands. "Computer, open a channel to starbase 311."

When they received an answer, Will nodded to Jean-Luc and put the starbase on speaker. "This is Commander Quinteros -- _Enterprise_ , it's good to hear from you. What's your status?"

"We're attempting to understand what's happened that brought us here, Commander," Jean-Luc said. "Commander Riker and I were in a holodeck and unaware of the red alert."

"Sir," Will broke in. "Scanners indicate one of the local stars recently went supernova. I'm getting sensor readings of Bynaus -- hailing them I get no response, and it seems their central computer is offline."

"That means their entire civilization is in jeopardy," Quinteros exclaimed. "That computer is connected to all the Bynars."

Then Data's voice, over the open channel, came to reassure them. "Sir, this is Data. Are the four Bynars able to assist?"

"They appear to be inactive as their central computer, Mr. Data. Any suggestions?"

Will said, "Data, there's a file using up most of the ship's free memory -- it isn't opening for me. It has to be something to do with this situation. Were you working with them before you left the ship? Any suggestions?"

"I regret that I did not work with them for any duration. I am also at a loss for why you were not notified of the red alert and evacuated, sir."

"We didn't hear anything while we were in the holodeck, and judging from the way the hologram running was reacting, I suspect that to be purposeful," Jean-Luc said. "We were not harmed but were kept in the holodeck for as long as possible."

"So two people were kept aboard, while everyone else evacuated -- and they are now as inactive as their computer. That would mean we are here to restore their computer. Because a supernova is predictable -- the EM pulse must have incapacitated their system," Data said. "They had no time to evacuate, computer, people and all -- but they had just enough time to bring our vessel here with a backup."

"That must have been what they were working so furiously to do, put their backup in our system before the nova," Will said. "So if we are the failsafe the password must be something straightforward."

"I suggest binary, sir," Data said. "Combinations of ones and zeroes, in sequences of eight or sixteen digits."

"On it." Will bent to the panel in front of him, typing in commands.

"Data, we appear to be in no danger -- the ship was brought here intact. So I anticipate we will return to the starbase when we are done with restoring the Bynaus system. Please inform the rest of the crew that all is well and we will return shortly."

"I will do so, Captain."

"Got it," Will exclaimed, triumphant. "Data was right, it wasn't difficult. It was their four names in sequence."

"How long will it take to upload the data back to the their system?"

Will snorted at that. "About an hour and a half. It's a lot of data."

"We will be back in two hours, Mr. Data. _Enterprise_ out."

Jean-Luc left the helm and paced toward the middle of the bridge. "Well, I think I will have some lunch."

"I don't remember ever being the entire bridge crew before."

"Something new every day, in Starfleet," Jean-Luc exclaimed, heading for the ready room. "I'll bring you a sandwich."

"Rescinding the order about not eating on the bridge?"

Jean-Luc glanced around. "I won't tell if you won't, Number One."

Will grinned. "Tell what?"

While replicating food, Jean-Luc thought about Deanna, and that led to realizing that while he didn't feel completely disconnected from her, he couldn't tell how she was feeling. He wondered if the reverse were also true, and realized he had no idea of her actual range.

"Picard to Troi."

"Captain," came her response. "Are you all right?"

"Of course -- you can obtain an update from Mr. Data."

"Actually, I was in the command center along with him, Lieutenant Yar, Dr. Crusher and Commander Quinteros. I am now heading into an office to start contacting department heads to spread the word that the ship  is safe, and reassure everyone it will be back shortly."

She sounded calm, as Counselor Troi usually did. He smiled at that. "I should be back in time to do as we planned. I hope this adventure didn't alarm you."

She chuckled at that. "No, I can actually still faintly sense that you are fine. Nothing specific about your emotions, though. I'm looking forward to dinner. I found a perfect outfit."

"We'll have a lot to talk about, as usual."

"See you after you dock. Troi out."

Jean-Luc smiled and took the plates back out to the bridge.


	10. Chapter 10

Jean-Luc was hurrying to his quarters to change when he heard Deanna laughing -- he smiled, then as he walked she came into view around the curve of the corridor, he saw who she was with.

"This is Captain Jean-Luc Picard," she announced to the young man. "Captain, this is Marcus -- he was brought here after we intervened and he's waiting for transport to Betazed. I ran into him in one of the stores on the starbase."

"It's an honor to meet you, sir," Marcus exclaimed, holding out a hand.

Jean-Luc shook it, not liking the reverent tone the man had. Or the handsome face, or the way he stood so close to Deanna and put a hand on her shoulder as he gave her a friendly glance. "A pleasure to meet you."

Deanna's emotions were trending to wary; she'd been happy to see him, and his reaction to Marcus was tempering that somewhat. He regretted the immediate feeling of a kick to the gut that he'd experienced at seeing them together, and her smile warmed again. She held up the bag in her left hand. "I'm going to go change, after Marcus heads back to the station. I wanted to give him a cutting from the orchid in my quarters -- he's an amateur botanist, he loves orchids, and I still have one that I brought aboard from Betazed, miracle of miracles. I'm surprised I've been able to keep it alive. I've never been so good with plants."

"Well, then, carry on," Jean-Luc exclaimed, starting to walk again. As he reached his door, Marcus laughed at something Deanna said, and she laughed with him.

He went about removing the uniform, asked the computer for something more formal than the usual civilian clothing he often resorted to when going off duty, and while he put on a pair of black shoes, he heard the door open. He stood up from the bed, turned, and froze in place. Deanna came to him, wearing a shimmering pale green dress and heels. He literally stopped breathing for a moment.

"Hello," she said in a low, intense way that resulted in his not wanting to leave his quarters.

"I am reconsidering our plans," he said softly as she came in to kiss him, her hands resting lightly on the lapels of his jacket.

"I would like to go to the restaurant. I'd like to practice."

"Practice," he echoed.

Deanna stayed there, looking across just a few inches of air space directly into his eyes. "I hope you can feel more confidence in our relationship, so that my friendships don't leave you feeling threatened."

"Hmm." 

She smiled, running a finger down the edge of one lapel. "You look too good to keep you to myself."

"I didn't think anything was amiss. It was a visceral reaction."

"Not one that you've had before."

"Possibly because you were not being an officer, with him."

For some reason, that observation made her happy. "Are you ready to go?"

"Of course."

It was a long walk to the transporter room. He had to spend it ignoring the attention they were getting. It seemed more crowded in the corridors than usual, and that made sense given all the people evacuated from the ship by Data were returning to it. But it set him on edge.

As they left the transporter pad on the station, Deanna sidled closer. "They were paying as much attention to you as to me -- you look good in a suit."

He frowned at that and led the way to the restaurant. By the time they arrived he had relaxed somewhat, as they got less attention in the corridors on the station. The obsequious waiter at the dimly-lit restaurant placed them at one of the tables near the broad viewports, pointing out the grand view of the Ermillian Cluster, the green and purple nebula visible in the upper right hand corner of the viewport.

"Didn't we fly through that on the way here?" Deanna asked. The waiter flinched visibly as he left them there with menus.

"No, but you knew that. I do approve of the dress, by the way."

"Your response to that too was quite visceral, and appreciated," she said with a smile. "I think I'll have something light."

She selected something from the Rigellian menu, and he chose something similar and asked for a wine he thought would be appropriate.

"What happened on the holodeck that kept you so occupied that you didn't hear the red alert?" She watched the waiter pour wine for each of them. He waited for the man to finish and leave before answering.

"The Bynars clearly programmed the holodeck to keep us there. When I arrived, the panel indicated that Will was inside."

"They don't usually do that, do they?"

"Not at all. I thought Will might have done it on purpose, to invite others in. The program itself seemed in keeping with that theory -- a vintage bar, with a jazz ensemble. Dancing."

Deanna was amused by that, and the ongoing undercurrent of affection from her made him smile. "You don't dance."

"No, and I had to repeat that a couple of times. He was with this incredible woman."

That diminished her smile slightly. 

"She was an amazing hologram. He was enthralled. I was suspicious, because she wasn't like any other hologram I'd ever seen -- I spent my time in the program trying to understand how a self aware hologram could have come to be."

"So you were suspicious?" Deanna tilted her head. "And you found her attractive."

"She was obviously programmed to lure Will in and keep him there. She did the same to me, although I was more curious about the programming than seduced by the woman. It doesn't bother you, does it? For me to feel an attraction to someone?"

"For me to be bothered by it would be petty. I'm used to fleeting attraction and more, from people around me. I'm also accustomed to ignoring it as much as possible."

When the waiter came to set an appetizer platter between them, Jean-Luc noticed him looking down Deanna's dress, and cleared his throat. The much-younger man with slicked-down hair glanced at him in alarm and scurried away with a muttered apology.

"Women are, by and large, tolerant of such observation," Deanna said placidly. "To complain each time would be too much work."

"Are you saying it's that constant?"

"Do you comment each time you feel some slight appreciation of a woman you see?"

He shrugged, not liking how many times he remembered feeling that way. 

"If it's any consolation, a lot of women are nearly as bad," she said with a smirk. "I could entertain you by counting when people feel that way about you."

"No, thank you." He plucked up one of the appetizers, some sort of canapé, and ate it.

"You don't like that kind of attention."

"Not particularly, no. Unless it's from you."

Her smile took on another kind of warmth. She leaned forward, elbows on the table, and then he felt her toes on his ankle. "Good."

"This connection you can maintain helps offset my general discomfort with some things." He thought about that some more. "You can do this with anyone, can't you?"

Unfortunately, it took her out of the mood. "I can, but I don't, and you're the only one who knows that I can, at the moment."

"But...." At her questioning look, he went ahead and finished the sentence, reluctantly. "You didn't share it with Will?"

She blinked. A hard blink, a startled one. "Oh...."

"You're confusing me, you know," he prompted, after she sat there feeling guilty for a moment.

"I didn't, on purpose," she said quietly. "I -- "

"You made a mistake?" The guilt was turning into what he would call humiliation. This wasn't where he wanted the evening to start. "We all do, you know. No need to feel so terrible about it."

"I think I should have explained -- I probably should explain it to him. It must be why he thinks -- I didn't even think about that."

"Something that would help him be less upset?"

She came back from wherever she'd gone abruptly, taking another canapé and meeting his gaze. "I'm sorry. It's not something we need to discuss. So, you were saying this hologram was created by the Bynars, but it was designed to distract him that much? I'm afraid I don't understand how a species so different from humans would be able to do that."

"It must have been adaptive programming at its finest. It's a shame it disappeared when we resolved the issue and transferred their file back to their computer. Will went back to the holodeck but she was gone and he couldn't get the computer to retrieve her."

Deanna looked down at the table then. She was melancholy about something.

"I can see we'll just have to stop talking about him altogether."

"I was just realizing that must be the source of his sadness. Forgive me for being an empath."

Jean-Luc smiled at that. "He did say he knew he could fall for her -- it may be that it was a little too late."

"Fall for a hologram? Really, he was serious?"

"She was unique. You'd have to meet her. She really did seem to be a real person, for a while."

Deanna shook her head. Under the table, her toes played with his shoe and ankle. "She wouldn't seem so to me."

Dinner arrived. She asked about the book he had been reading to her during her convalescence, and it surprised him that she was interested in finishing it. "Just to hear my voice," he said jokingly, finally shoving at her foot as it once again invaded his pants leg.

She grinned, but then blinked -- a surprised expression came and went, she composed herself and took another bite of her food, which she had been enjoying. "You'll want to avoid reacting," she said. "Will is coming in."

"Avoid reacting to what?" He glanced over at the entrance, in the far corner, and saw the waiter escorting Will -- also out of uniform -- and a tall woman to a table. Neither of them seemed to notice them sitting there. Jean-Luc turned back to meet Deanna's serious gaze.

"You can't react to it," she repeated.

"Deanna, how can I not react to it?"

"Why are you so angry?"

They were both upset -- he had no interest in what was left of his food, and she was starting to feel sick. He put his palm to his forehead. "She's my friend. He thought I was interested in her. How can I not think this is a deliberate attempt on his part at some sort of subtle vengeance?"

"She's my friend as well, you know," Deanna murmured. "Can we go? Find a quiet place to not be here."

When the waiter came with a wine bottle, Jean-Luc paid the bill and stood up, holding out an arm -- Deanna gave him a genuinely happy smile, despite the remaining ire at Will that he'd worked down to a simmer, and sidled up next to him until she was practically stepping on his foot as they left the restaurant at a leisurely pace.

"Let's go down there," he said, pointing with his chin in the opposite direction from the transporter room.

"You mean that very expensive hotel with the very luxurious suites?"

"I'd like to think that being off the ship completely would only make things that much more relaxing."

"I think you're right," Deanna murmured as they continued down the broad corridor away from the restaurant. "He wasn't surprised to see us. A little frustrated when we left, I think perhaps because neither of us looked over at them."

"He was on the bridge when I made the reservation. Here I hoped that he was able to make peace with it. He was fine, at dinner last night. Friendly and you said he was only somewhat frustrated -- unless you were downplaying it?"

"No, I thought he was fine. He's not really her type, I think. But -- "

He glanced at her -- she'd gone tight-lipped. She was wary. "You're going to tell me she was disappointed, when she found out about us."

"We can't do anything," Deanna exclaimed. "Let it play out. Just let it be. Rebounds happen. It doesn't have to end badly."

"Oh, you're absolutely right, but I have a very bad feeling about all of this, now." He heard a stifled sob. "Deanna, no. I didn't mean you."

"Objectively, I know we can't make decisions about our relationship because of his reaction, but I don't like how this is going, Jean-Luc."

He gave her a grim smile as they came to a halt in front of the hotel. "I don't like what Will is doing. But it's not going to make me regret anything." When he brushed his thumb along her cheek, she smiled again. "Let's think about it tomorrow. That will be soon enough."

 


	11. Chapter 11

"This is a wonderful bed," Deanna called out, rolling on her back in the soft, deep layers of covers and smiling up at the stars. The room was fantastic, full of luxuries -- the sort of room she hadn't been in since her last vacation with her mother.

"What is it that appeals so much?" Jean-Luc asked from the bar in the corner. He was getting coffee from the replicator.

"The sheets are so soft and warm -- much nicer than standard issue."

He returned with a steaming cup and settled on the edge of the bed. He wore a crimson robe that had been provided with the rest of the amenities of the room. "Anything else about it you find appealing?"

"These pillows are nice." They smelled like lavender, and would be as soft and moldable as you wanted if you twisted the corner one way, and stiff and supportive if you twisted the other. Definitely not like standard issue.

"Hm." Jean-Luc picked up one of the pillows. "So, if I manage to retrofit my own bed, how much does it increase the chances of finding you in it?"

She thought her grin might split her face in two -- she giggled at him and shoved his hip with her foot. "You don't need to do anything more than invite me in. Or get in it yourself, I'll come along after you shortly."

He watched her loll in the covers with a muted smile of appreciation. She didn't like the way he felt, resisted letting it influence her behavior, but since it wasn't diminishing she sighed and sat up.

"Jean-Luc?"

"I enjoy being with you." That was an unfinished thought if she'd ever heard one. Apparently he was genetically incapable of finishing any sentence he thought might make something awkward.

"You're thinking very seriously about something, though. It's not letting you enjoy being with me very much at the moment."

"It's been a nice interlude, for the past twelve hours or so. If you had told me last week that I would enjoy being in a room like this not thinking about duty or the things that I usually think about when off duty, I would have scowled at you. But I'm starting to think about going back, since we're supposed to check out in a few hours, and I can't help imagining what we'll confront when we get there."

Deanna grabbed the edge of the so-soft, cream colored blanket and rolled up in it, moving closer to where he was sitting. She dragged a couple of pillows down and reclined on them. "Well, judging from what I sensed from them here and there over the time since we left the restaurant, nothing particularly unusual happened. Beverly is feeling as she usually does when she's on duty and helping someone, at the moment. I suspect if anything happened between them that she would feel differently."

He looked away, and down at the floor.

"And the only reason I perpetrated that invasion of privacy was to assure you of something you could determine by walking into sickbay yourself and observing whether or not she's anxious or preoccupied, so I could get your attention back to more enjoyable things."

He laughed at that, embarrassed and relieved. "You do have focus."

"You need to relax. I still have some spring wine around here somewhere."

"At nine hundred hours?"

Deanna unrolled from the blanket, grabbed the bottle from the night stand on the other side of the bed, and wiggled back across while holding it high, and offered it to him. "Time is relative."

"Perhaps you noticed," he said, pointing at the cup in his right hand. He did take the wine bottle from her, but put it on the floor.

"You're going to tell me to get dressed, and there's still another full day of the upgrades to endure?"

"It's hard to believe, I know."

She fell on her back again and grinned. "It's reassuring, actually. And I should go myself. As much as I'd love to spend another day naked with you, I know we're going to have a backlog of things that need our attention. I should, for example, convince Beverly that I can go back to seeing clients."

"I'd ask if you're ready, but given the evidence at hand...."

"I'm still sore, in several senses of the word. At the moment especially in the shoulders. But it could be worse. I wouldn't mind, if you wanted to make it worse."

A long, audible exhale from him at that. "I'm wondering what normal will look like."

"What do you mean?"

"I was just trying to picture what life will be like -- you come over, I come over, we work together...."

Deanna moved over to sit up next to him on the edge of the bed, wincing a little. Her shoulders still complained if she moved too much too quickly, and her lower back. "Eat together, talk, spend time on the holodeck. Or reading. Yes, that would be fairly normal for Starfleet officers. We might even have sex again at some point."

"Oh," he exclaimed. She smiled when his arm went around her now without hesitation. "At some point."

"I'd presume every three or four days, unless of course some crisis is afoot. You are fairly single-minded when there's a red alert. We could arrange a signal you can use when you're ready -- perhaps something simple, like waving a thumb at a door."

He didn't like to talk so openly about sex this way, but he did like her hugging him and running her hand along his chest, beneath the front of his robe. He also liked her kissing him, and almost spilled his coffee.

Deanna leaned on him for a moment, after pulling away. "I'll go take a shower. You should finish getting dressed."

He watched her -- she could tell, as he enjoyed doing it -- walk to the bathroom slowly. The plush carpeting was in itself a delight, silky soft against bare feet. She asked the computer to turn on the hot water in the shower and took a moment selecting one of the four available herbal soaps -- at that point his hands landed on her skin, one on her right buttock and the other on her left shoulder as his lips brushed her shoulder and slid up her neck. 

"Hello," she murmured, leaning back against him and finding herself in his arms. "Going to help me?"

"Maybe."

Jean-Luc had clearly had good instruction somewhere along the way, or perhaps he was getting good at tracking the emotions she shared with him to the point that he could tell the effect his touch had and modify accordingly. She liked being caressed, and she liked his enthusiasm; he had a fine sense of timing as well. He knew just when to slide his fingers deeper, or push her against the wall harder. He wasn't shy about anything. Wasn't afraid of using his mouth -- he was learning that she liked very assertive and firm more than gentle.

Eventually, she was able to finish the shower and he helped her dry off. "Don't think in terms of what normal should be," she told him while he fastened her bra. "Think about what works. It might hurt my feelings to not see you for four days, but that might have to happen."

"This is part of the reason I thought families didn't belong on board. Also why I didn't plan to have a family."

She turned and put her arms around his neck, and they held each other for a moment, in the middle of the gleaming white bathroom full of luxuries they weren't used to seeing. The towels were folded and stacked in a towel warmer, there were fresh robes placed on hangers in the nook near the door each morning -- it was not standard issue. It all felt like a different world. 

"I love you," she said matter-of-factly. "And I don't expect you to change."

His sigh tickled her ear and the side of her neck. "I love you."

That was a moment -- she grinned, even cried a little, and wanted to stand there holding him while floating on their combined feelings for each other. It was difficult to be an empath and not put words to things. His statement gave her such hope that she fairly laughed for joy -- he had not believed that he could find anyone he would be able to be with long term, let alone marry, and had told her openly that he had only confessed love to a woman when he was very young and foolish then determined that he would not do so again unless he meant it.

"I wonder if I might impose upon you to give me a massage, before we go?" he asked.

"As if it's an imposition at all, to do things that make you feel good," she murmured. "Come pick a massage oil from the cabinet in the bedroom."

"You mean those little bottles are massage oil? I thought they were for drinking."

She laughed, following him out of the bathroom while tickling his thighs beneath the back hem of the short robe. He was being intentionally silly. "I thought you would have figured that out when it didn't taste as it smelled like it should."

"Well, I've never claimed to be particularly smart about things."

It took almost an hour to massage him into complete relaxation. At that point he glanced at the clock, and they agreed that it finally had to end, or they'd have to pay for another day. Jean-Luc took a shower, but she noticed as they left the hotel later that he still smelled faintly of almonds. She let it go unaddressed. No one would dare comment about it, surely. He'd replicated a uniform for himself, and she had opted for a nondescript navy dress, then put their clothing from the previous night in a shopping bag with something she'd purchased at a nearby store. 

The journey back to the ship and then onward to their deck was uneventful. As they approached her door, their steps slowed in tandem. He was thinking again, hesitating to speak for some reason. 

"I'll see you later," she said softly, sparing him the decision. "I'm going to drop this in my quarters and go to sickbay."

"I -- " He touched her arm, almost held it but loosened his fingers at once, then dropped his hand. To her surprise he leaned in and kissed her. Not with great passion, but not exactly a peck and a smile, either -- he gripped her shoulder and leaned into it briefly. And then he suddenly pulled away and marched off toward his own quarters.

She watched him for a few seconds, smiling, and turned to go in. As she dropped the bag in the living room, the door closed behind her. She was in her bedroom picking up her hair brush when the chime sounded.

Of course it was Will. She knew he'd been in the immediate vicinity the instant they got off the lift and assumed he was in his quarters, two doors from Jean-Luc's and aft. Hers were two doors forward. Now he stood outside her open door, looking at her across the threshold.

"Well, good morning," she said, letting her surprise show. 

"Hi," he said, with nonchalance and a happy smile, as if he wasn't feeling any anxiety at all. "Did you enjoy your night out?"

"Of course." She furrowed her brow at him, as if he'd suggested something ridiculous. "Did you enjoy yours? I think I sensed you were somewhere near, when we were in the restaurant."

This was part of the problem -- she hadn't told Will everything about her empathy. She hadn't described to him how it had changed over the years between their young romance and coming aboard the _Enterprise_. And back then, when she was young and foolish and more like her mother, who could be at times manipulative and selfish, she had let Will assume that the connection between them was unique and special, not the same as any Betazoid's ability to project. She hadn't thought about it in weeks -- initially, when he had come aboard, every part of that relationship and the ensuing heartbreak had played itself out in her head. She'd set it aside immediately. Water under the bridge. But when she and Jean-Luc had talked further, it struck her that it was part of the problem. Will had refused to call her imzadi, when they had discussed her pending nuptials with Wyatt. And then Wyatt had interrupted before that conversation could play out and she could get clarification of why. It had to be because he thought that term referred to some unique bond, and her behavior had fed into that belief. And now, perhaps it was part of the problem of his inability to let go.

It wasn't fair of her to let him keep assuming. But somehow, at the moment, after what he had done last night, she really didn't want to tell him. She was fairly certain that what he had done had been an act of vengeance -- a subtle, easily defended act, that he could write off as a dinner with a friend and co-worker.

So she didn't tell him she had sensed him when he came aboard the station with Beverly. She didn't tell him she sensed his approach, and the anticipation he felt as he came into the restaurant. She would confess to him later -- if he stopped this quiet resentment. It didn't feel safe to reveal it to him until then.

Will smiled on, and shrugged sheepishly. "It was a good time. A nice restaurant, and a friend."

That in itself was not said with malice or artifice. He did like Beverly, as well as he did any of his friends. There wasn't any real interest in her behind the comment. Deanna nodded. "I'm glad you had a good time."

Will's expression transitioned to a smirk. "So did you have a good time with the old man?"

Deanna didn't like the underlying twist of muted anger -- he was doing his best to be calm and accepting, she thought, but there was still resentment in there, making what could have been a joke only partly one. She smiled as well, forcing it for a few seconds, but she thought about the orgasms she'd had while at Jean-Luc's mercy, and the wine, and listening to Jean-Luc read poetry while she stared up at the stars.

"You could say that," Deanna said, giving what started as a shrug and ending with a shimmy of remembered pleasure. "Oh, how I could say that."

"Okay," Will said. Her reaction had surprised him.

"Will you excuse me, Will? I'm going to finish putting up my hair and head for sickbay," she exclaimed. "I'm a little sore. And I need to talk to her anyway, I'm really feeling much better, I'd like to return to duty at least part time."

His expression as she mentioned soreness flitted through shock -- she would have missed it, if not for her ability to sense that reaction. He composed himself rapidly. "Of course -- I'll see you later?"

"Yes, of course." She started to brush her hair as she headed into the bedroom, and he left her quarters.

After tying back her hair, she went along to sickbay, smiling at passsers by along the way. Beverly turned from whatever she was doing at one of the empty biobeds, perhaps recalibrating it, when she came into sickbay. "Deanna? Everything all right?"

"I'm doing well enough. A little muscle tenderness in the back, a little in the sides. A little headache."

"Of course. Sit over here, let me run a scan."

Deanna sat on the biobed obediently and watched the doctor wave her sensor wand. "I actually came in to ask if you might clear me for a partial return to duty. I want to start seeing clients again. I don't feel good about leaving them without treatment for extended periods."

"I think you'll be able to do that -- half time. I know how this goes, I see officers overextend themselves instead of giving themselves time to heal. You feel fine on leave, doing very little, but then you go back to full time and next thing you'll be asking for stimulants."

"No, I don't want to do that. I'd rather you didn't complain about me."

Beverly smiled warmly at her. "It looked like you had a nice time with Jean-Luc," she said, nudging her with an elbow. "I've never seen him walk around with a woman under his arm before."

"Oh," Deanna blurted, surprised -- not for the reason Beverly suspected, probably, but because the sly approval was inconsistent with the disappointment she'd sensed last week.

"And you didn't come back to the ship -- oh, you're blushing? How does that happen? Aren't you the same woman who told Tasha and I about all the sexual positions you can get yourself into?"

"I swear I'm never drinking with you again," Deanna moaned.

Beverly patted her shoulders lightly and grinned. "Don't worry, Deanna, I don't drink and tell. Although I bet I don't need to, you probably taught him all about what you like already? I'm going to give you a muscle relaxant, a mild analgesic and then I'm going to check on whether or not you need another booster for the birth control."

"Probably a good idea." Deanna watched her go to the cabinet and return with a hypo. "Did you enjoy your date?"

Beverly didn't flinch, look away, or shy away from the question in any way. She gave Deanna the medication and smiled. "It was okay."

"Okay? Will must be crushed," Deanna said with a grin.

The doctor rolled her eyes. "He wasn't under any delusion that it was anything but a meal with a friend. I'm not really interested in actual dating, frankly. But it was nice of him to ask."

"I thought not -- you said as much before. Trying to get Wes off to the Academy or college or wherever he's destined to go is your focus."

"How well you remember our singular drunken time together, my friend," Beverly said. "You're good to go."

"Thanks. I feel much better." She stood up and gazed at Beverly with a smile. "You know -- how would you like to remove the term 'singular' from that sentence? We're here at the station until this upgrade is finished. Jean-Luc is making up for lost time staring at logs and probably tossing back Earl Grey as we speak -- how about we go to the bar on the station later today?"

"Are we inviting anyone else?" Beverly crossed her arms.

"Tasha?"

"And all of us in civvies, right?"

"And officially, we're going shopping," Deanna added.

"This from the woman who's never drinking with me again?"

Deanna matched her grin. "You're drinking. I'm watching you and Tasha and making sure you get back to the ship safely, without involving security."

"Uh huh, I'll believe it when I see it -- there's a Samarian sunset with your name on it out there waiting," Beverly said, patting her on the shoulder as she started for the door.

"See you around sixteen hundred," Deanna said over her shoulder. "I'm going to go arrange a schedule."

It took all of an hour to get her clients arranged on her schedule. Her last comm call was to Tasha, who was so happy about the idea of spending time with "the girls" that she wanted to leave earlier -- but Deanna knew that Tasha's idea of shopping was looking for knives and other weapons, and deferred, saying she had a few things to take care of, and Beverly couldn't leave that early. Deanna was tempted to wander down to have lunch with Jean-Luc, as she could tell he was in his quarters and hungry. But she wasn't sure she should. Perhaps he wanted the time to himself.

It was funny, how she had forgotten she was still being open with him -- he started to feel curious, and she smiled. Set aside the padd and got up from her couch, and went down the corridor. When she walked into his, she knew Will was in there, but hardly looked at him -- went to the couch where Jean-Luc sat, and settled next to him and crossed her legs.

"You appear to be trying to get my attention," Jean-Luc said, glancing at her bare, shapely calves.

"You're hungry and I'm reminding you to stop and eat," she said, waving her hand at the padd in his.

"I suppose I can hardly argue with the obvious. Do you want anything, Number One?"

"A roast beef sandwich and coleslaw. Thanks."

Deanna was left there as Jean-Luc went to the replicator. She smiled at Will, and found him watching her and musing about something serious. But he reacted with a faint smile. She looked up as Jean-Luc returned to hand her a bowl and glass, gave him a fond look, and leaned to put the water on the low table in front of her as he returned to fetch something for Will.

"Beverly cleared me for seeing clients but I'm still technically off duty," she said, figuring both of them needed to know that anyway. "So my schedule is returning to half of normal, tomorrow. I'm going shopping with her this afternoon."

"Shopping?" Will echoed. "I had a look at the commercial decks yesterday, it's fairly limited by your standards, isn't it?"

"Apparently you are under the impression that purchasing things is the real goal," Jean-Luc said as he brought over a plate with Will's requested sandwich and sides.

 "Will doesn't like shopping," Deanna said around what was left of a mouthful of salad. "There are those who enjoy the journey, and those who prefer the end result, the destination."

Jean-Luc came back to sit next to her. He put his glass and plate down, and moved the padd he'd left on the couch to the table beside the plate. "There are those who thought they wanted the end result and came to understand they also find the journey to be quite enjoyable."

"You like shopping?" Will asked, his voice rising in disbelief.

"Oh, no, not at all," Jean-Luc said with a wave of the hand. "I like journeys."

Deanna chuckled with them, and ate her salad. It was easy to feel that it was all right, at the moment. Easy to feel like Will's friend. But she ate and listened to them return to the discussion they'd been having when she'd interrupted, to the next mission -- investigating the disappearance of a freighter, which had been picked up on sensors by a private survey of a mining consortium and reported to Starfleet. It wasn't a likely mission for a counselor to concern herself with, and she was technically off duty at the moment, so she paid more attention to the exchange of emotions and their reactions to each other. Tasha had described noticing that look on Will's face in unguarded moments on the bridge. 

This was what she saw now -- twice, while they discussed the _Odin_ , she sensed a moment of pensiveness, or frustration, from Will, and glancing at him saw that it showed in his eyes. He was quick to shift gears each time Jean-Luc looked up from his own sandwich while talking.

The conversation wandered a little, as often happened, and then Will said, apropos of nothing, "So when should we start to plan the engagement party?"

That failed utterly, as a tease. It was a little too much even for Will -- but he appeared to be unable to approach the matter without joking about it, a sure sign of how much unease he still felt. Deanna sensed the ire from Jean-Luc and shoved her toe against the side of his standard-issue boot, distracting him, and said, "About the same time you plan yours?"

It caught him off guard and he wavered in indecision on how to respond. 

"In other words," she said, turning a bright smile on Jean-Luc, "when there's actually an engagement to celebrate. There isn't one. I've noticed that sometimes people project -- are you trying to tell us something?"

Will laughed at that. "Nope. Just kidding. I just, you know, you seem like you're getting along really well. Kissing in corridors and all."

"He must have been in the corridor this morning," Deanna said, gazing sidelong at Jean-Luc, still. "You've been quite circumspect otherwise. I was a little too distracted to notice him, myself."

"Hmm." Jean-Luc wasn't perturbed by it at all. Actually, he was a little smug -- Deanna wondered if he might have noticed Will himself, that morning. So the very subtle, very understated back-and-forth had advanced to this? She didn't want to leap to conclusions, however, so she decided to talk to each of them later, individually, rather than risk making the covert more overt.

"Well, I believe that I shall leave you to finish your unofficial debriefing," she said. "I may as well take a nap, since I have the time. Catch up on my sleep." Leaning, she kissed Jean-Luc on the cheek and took her empty dish to the recycler, then gave them a wave of the fingers as she departed the captain's quarters. 

She only allowed herself to smirk after the door was shut and she was walking away from it. 


	12. Chapter 12

Deanna took another sip of the tall rum drink -- she'd forgotten the contrived name for it already, in the early haze of the effects of the alcohol -- and laughed with her friends while Tasha postured and imitated someone.

"Oh, no, it's not Worf is it?" Beverly exclaimed, bringing her hand to her mouth. She tended to overexaggerate when responding to things while drunk. She had had two of the vodka drinks already.

"I'm afraid it's got to be Will," Deanna said, as Tasha put her foot on her chair and leaned elbow to knee.

Beverly lost the grin completely. Tasha sat down, reaching to drape a hand over Beverly's arm. "Sorry?"

"It's not that," Beverly said. "It's not -- " Then she was frowning.

"I'm beginning to think this was a bad idea," Deanna said. She glanced around -- they were in a corner of the Green Ferengi, a bar run by a Bolian, and staffed by random people of several species with not a Ferengi in sight. There weren't many customers this early, one of the reasons Deanna had set the time as she had, and no Starfleet officers were evident. 

"It was humiliating, really," Beverly exclaimed, going into hyperbole and slurring. "I should have stayed -- I should have said no."

Tasha was mightily confused, but kept a hand on the doctor's shoulder. "It's okay, it's okay."

"You said it was just dinner with a friend," Deanna said. "Did something happen with Will?"

 That brought Tasha straight up in the chair and dropped her chin. "What?"

"They went out for dinner, last night," Deanna said, knowing that drunken Beverly was not in a state of mind conducive to coherent discussion. And now it occurred to her that the rapidity of the appearance of drunken Beverly might have something to do with her free-floating guilt and grief, which had been with her since they left the ship. "Beverly, after I left sickbay, did something happen today?"

"Well, I can't," she said tearfully, shaking her head. Tasha shoved napkins at her and the doctor mopped her face. "Shouldn't talk about it."

The buzz was dissipating fast, as Deanna shoved aside the drink and didn't replenish the alcohol sloshing around in her veins. "I'm sorry, Beverly. I want to help but I'm not sure what to do."

"I'm sorry." Beverly was shaking her head again. 

Deanna left her chair opposite the doctor and moved to the one on Beverly's immediate left, putting her hand on her friend's shoulder. "It's all right. Whatever it is. We can help you."

"He -- "

Deanna met Tasha's concerned blue eyes -- anguished, but anguish was the drunken version of concern -- and they both looked at Beverly again. 

"He asked me, again," Beverly said. 

Deanna sighed. "Will? Or someone else?"

"I convinced myself when he asked me the first time that it was idle curiosity. He wanted to know if I had any reservations about the captain being -- if I thought -- you and the captain were a bad idea. He came into sickbay a couple hours ago. Seemed frustrated with something, and that was when I realized he was actually looking to stir up something instead of just being curious."

There had not been anything in their professional lives to date that had been influenced by the personal -- of course not, it hadn't even been a month. Deanna had pointed out to Will already that the opposite was true. She had nearly died in the line of duty, right in front of their captain. Yet he was questioning other officers, on their feelings on the matter. Nothing had happened that would require investigation. He shouldn't be doing this.

"You're angry," Tasha blurted. Deanna glanced at her and discovered her friend was talking about her. 

"Beverly, was he questioning whether you thought my relationship with Jean-Luc was somehow compromising our performance on duty?"

Beverly's blue eyes were full of woe and angst -- Deanna sat up and called out, "Tina."

The waitress who'd been hovering and circling the room hurried over, concern in her dark eyes. "Yes?"

"A dose of sobriety, if you don't mind?"

Tina, who might be human but for faint ridges on her forehead -- which could mean anything, there were so many humanoids with ridges on their faces -- hurried off and returned with a hypospray. "Anything else, ma'am?"

"No, thank you." Deanna watched her sashay off with flirty little swings of her short pink skirt, and turned back to the doctor. "Do you want this?"

Beverly fumbled it, so Deanna took it back and put it to the doctor's bare shoulder herself. She had worn something with straps, and a shawl over it, but the shawl was draped over the back of her chair. Holding her face in her hands, Beverly waited for the dose to take effect. 

"I guess I'm killing all the fun."

Tasha smiled at that. "It doesn't sound like it to me. Something happened to upset you, you're upset, how are we going to expect you to have fun? Are you feeling better?"

"Yes and no. I'm thinking a little more clearly." Now she radiated embarrassment, instead of humiliation. "I guess I didn't want to think about things and Will made me think about them anyway."

"What do you mean?" Deanna asked.

"Jean-Luc always maintained that officers should not have spouses aboard, and shouldn't have affairs with other officers on the same ship, and while he respected the choices of others, left them alone about it unless it interfered with duty, he's never changed in that regard." Beverly was trying to smile through it, but struggling. "Will asked me if I saw anything that made me think there could be a problem, with the captain."

Deanna started to laugh at that, though it wasn't funny. "Of course he did. It's his responsibility to make sure the captain is fit for duty. I'm sure he argued his case well. Except nothing's happened to warrant an investigation, has it?"

"The last I noticed, you were being an officer," Tasha said with intense anger in her demeanor. "And the captain was injured as well, and there wasn't a damned thing either of you did to cause it -- the Gemenn immediately apprehended the perpetrator and put him in custody. It wasn't a diplomatic incident, it was a single individual acting out of turn. And then you've been off duty since then so what does he have to whine about?"

"What else, Beverly?" Deanna asked. There had to be more than that. Beverly wasn't so easily upset.

"It gave me a bad feeling. That's all. I didn't like that he asked me. I'm in sickbay most of the time, what am I supposed to say?"

"You could tell him the truth," Deanna said.

Beverly brushed her hair behind her ear. A reassuring gesture, as it meant she had started to think about it a little more, and feel about it less. There was a reluctant sort of guilt still present. 

"It's all right, to not approve of it. I understand that. But I know you wouldn't be questioning unless you actually saw something happening that deserved questioning."

"I think part of the reason he approached me has to do with my history with Jean-Luc," Beverly murmured. "He mentioned he knew we were friends, before. I told him...."

"Talking about your past is all right, Beverly. He probably already knows about Jack. Will is my friend, and he's Jean-Luc's friend, but he's not really thinking about what he is doing right now, apparently. I need to go talk to him." That need was now more pressing, now that it was obvious he was involving other people in this. 

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Tasha said softly. Her usual method of dealing with drama was to step away from it. There were times that was the better tactic -- this was not one of them.

"Actually, yes."

Tasha glanced at the doctor. Beverly was shaking her head again. "I shouldn't have said anything."

"You should both go to Beverly's quarters. I'll come see you after I talk to him. There's something I need to settle with him anyway, something personal."

"Okay. See you in a while?" Tasha asked as they all got up from the table. "I'll get the check."

"I'll bring a bottle of something I've been keeping for a special occasion," Deanna said, and smiled reassuringly before heading off at a quick walk.

She reached the _Enterprise_  ahead of them and went looking for Will, with a little help from the computer. When she arrived at his quarters he was emerging dressed in sweats -- one look at her and he held up both hands as if surrendering and backed up through his door, and she followed him in.

"I have a couple of things to tell you, and one question," she said with a smile.

It put him off balance. He sat in the chair, and she went to the end of his couch farthest from him and took an upright posture, her hands on her knees. "I think I know what it's about," he said. 

"You do?"

He shrugged. "You aren't happy with me."

"What I'm least happy with is myself. I was thinking about our conversation on the holodeck, that we didn't get to finish -- about your attitude when I was still planning to marry Wyatt. You were upset that I would even consider marrying him."

"He didn't know you, and you didn't know him," Will exclaimed. "You shouldn't have to marry someone just because your parents told you to do it. What does that have to do with anything?"

"I have to wonder if you think we have some sort of special bond, or connection, that makes you feel as though you have some proprietary claim on me."

He openly gaped, and started to laugh a little. When she didn't join him he sat back and thought about it. "You're not kidding."

"I realize that I can be sarcastic. But this is hardly an appropriate time for a joke. I think you have the idea that I'm supposed to be with you and other relationships are just temporary, because I'm going to come back to you eventually. I think I inadvertently gave you that idea when I was young and foolish and thought I was simply being mysterious, not telling you everything about me."

"Okay," he said, taking it in. "Okay, so what is it you didn't tell me?"

"I did not inform you that I am like all Betazoids. Able to project as well as receive. Since I sense emotions, I project emotions, when I want to."

The startled stare became the glare that she had dreaded. He was quite angry. She waited, and her stomach started to churn. Then she had to contend with worry from another direction -- Jean-Luc had realized something was going on and now felt concern. She sighed, and projected reassurance, or tried to, even attempting to tell him telepathically. 

"You wanted me to think we had something unique -- that it was -- "

"I did not lie to you," she exclaimed. "I simply did not tell you everything, because I was young and ignorant of the potential consequences of my behavior. I should have. It's why I'm revisiting this now. I suspected, when you were so odd because of Wyatt, and then so odd because of Jean-Luc, that you had to be assuming something that isn't true. I thought it might be that you had some distorted idea of what imzadi meant -- if I had been a smarter person when we were together, I would have told you everything. And I'm trying to apologize to you for that, because I don't want you to continue making an assumption -- if that's a problem. I don't even think I need to completely understand what you really thought, back then, but I want you to know that I deeply regret my childish behavior and I'm sorry that I wasn't honest and forthright at the time. I hope you can forgive me."

"So you could, right now, share your emotions and thoughts with me as you used to -- and you can do it with anyone?"

He was too angry, and cold. She stared at him and wished she could travel back in time and kick her younger self for being so foolish. "I've done it with Tasha, in fact."

"And him," he blurted.

"Of course. With my mother as well, and with several others before you came along. It isn't hard to do."

 He was on his feet and stalking the length of the room. "You're telling me you could do that, all along."

"Not as well as I can now, but yes. I probably would have told you by now, if not for the untimely end of our engagement."

"So you're going to rub that in too?"

Deanna closed her eyes and wished she had waited. This was not what she'd hoped. He was losing his temper. "I'm telling you that until now I haven't put together the pieces and understood what was probably happening. I'm not omniscient, Will. You're not really giving me a lot of hope that you told me the truth, when you said we would be friends."

He stopped in the center of the room with his hands on his hips. Glared at the floor, for a bit. "What was the question?"

She blinked, caught off guard.

"You said you had a couple of things to tell me and a question."

If she didn't ask, he would be angrier than he was. So she took a deep breath. "Are you questioning my relationship with the captain, or with Jean-Luc?"

" _What_?"

"If you have professional concerns about our relationship, why are you addressing them in the personal realm? Why aren't you having a meeting with the senior officers instead of picking away at it -- "

"Enough," he exclaimed. "Give me some time."

Deanna fled the room, and hurried for her own quarters. She found Beverly and Tasha waiting outside her door instead of inside the doctor's quarters. Tasha's worried eyes told her that she was too rattled to maintain her usual demeanor.

"It didn't go well," Beverly said quietly.

"I need a drink. Possibly a sedative." Deanna went in, and they tailed after her. She replicated glasses and poured them all clear blue liquid from a bottle she had stored in her bottom drawer.

"This is...." Tasha stared into the glass.

"Illegal, but ask me if I care." Deanna knocked back the first shot and let it burn through her sinuses and down her throat -- the fumes were as intense as the liquid.

"What happened?" Beverly asked.

"I told him if he had professional concerns he should address them in a senior staff meeting, not pick away at it informally as he's been doing."

"How did he take that?"

Tasha made an incredulous noise. "We're drinking Romulan Ale. How do you think he took it?"

Beverly made a face, took a swig, and made another face. And drank the rest of it in one go, then planted the glass on the table. "What else did you talk to him about?"

In for a penny, as the saying went. "I told him that I'm Betazoid, essentially."

"Oh," Tasha said. "You mean he didn't know?"

"He did, but he didn't. I never explained to him that what I did with him wasn't unique to him. That's what made him so angry. Back then, I didn't think in terms of what was honest, or what was fair -- I didn't really think much at all. I never explained it to him."

"Wasn't that a long time ago?" Beverly asked.

"It was. But sometimes people have a very fixed idea that won't budge, you know?"

Beverly went melancholy, staring off into space, and shook herself back to the present to reach for the bottle and get a refill. "Yes. I know."

Tasha raised her glass. "This is podent -- potent stuff," she announced.

"Oooh," Beverly exclaimed after another sip. "Oh, yes. I don't think we're leaving any time soon."

It devolved rapidly, as they went on to a third glass -- they were not large glasses, but the ale was potent and almost debilitating. They were laughing at almost anything -- Beverly tried to talk about some old boyfriend she'd had, doing as people often did and finding common ground, but it became more difficult to speak in sentences. Tasha resorted to making faces after a while as she was incapable of much else. Deanna giggled and put down her empty glass, but picking up the bottle was beyond her. So she draped herself back in her chair, sighing, and watched Tasha grimace comically and break into peals of laughter as Beverly giggled at it.

After the initial buzz, alcohol always made her drowsy and lethargic. It also dulled her empathy until she hardly sensed anything from the people in front of her, so when she opened her eyes after a few moments of resting, she was shocked to find that her friends had gone silent because they were kissing.

Her hazed-over mind struggled to parse the sight -- she hadn't sensed anything at any point from either of them that suggested they had been attracted to each other, so this was completely out of nowhere.

She failed to come to a conclusion -- leaned forward, half-filled her glass -- she thought it was hers anyway -- and spilled a little on the table, managed to put the bottle down without tipping it over, fumbled with the glass, took a drink. Deanna was wincing and trying to breathe when the chime went off. Her eyes smarted, tears streaming down her cheeks. She looked at her friends still locked in an embrace and stood, swaying back and forth more than she'd expected. She made it to the door, walked through it as she had enough presence of mind to know they wouldn't appreciate an audience, and in retrospect she managed to think that she could have engaged a privacy lock and stayed quiet, but thinking was more effort than it should be.

Firm, strong hands caught her by the shoulders, halting the long slow sway of her body that she hadn't realized was happening as she teetered along. "Deanna?"

Something about Jean-Luc's voice had always made her a little weak in the knees, more so recently than ever before, and at the moment she had so little composure and resistance she actually collapsed. Her body slid through his hands into a heap. A blurry moment later she lay limp in his arms.

"Nawwww," she murmured. "Not. Don't."

"You're drunk," he exclaimed, and she realized that he'd carried her into her quarters, all the way into the bedroom. Peering at his face through her eyelids -- why were they swollen? -- at his concerned face, she moaned and tried to move. He placed her on the bed. The not-soft, less comfortable, standard issue bed.

"'S goin' on?"

"Deanna, I thought you were shopping. Did something happen?"

"Sorry," she mumbled. It took a few seconds to realize her face was wet because she was crying. And then to understand that he couldn't have seen Tasha and Beverly. He wouldn't be so entirely focused on her. It struck her that was odd. She needed her brain back to figure that out. "In," she muttered, pointing at the night stand. "There."

He found the hypo in the drawer, gave it to her, and the incredible fuzziness dwindled rapidly. It did nothing for the headache or the metallic tang in her mouth, or the way her stomach was cursing her for five shots of Romulan ale. Jean-Luc sat on the edge of her bed and watched her while radiating worry and love, and she sighed as she noticed the stain on the front of the green dress for the first time.

"We were in the bar, on the station," she said. "And Beverly was melting down. We came back and I shared some ale I had with them."

As she spoke, she sensed her friends were now asleep. Probably tangled up together on the couch, actually. Maybe that had escaped Jean-Luc's notice; there was a faux wall, a short partition, that partially obscured the view of the couch from the door. He'd been focused on getting her to the bed. 

"Is everything all right now? What was Beverly upset about?"

"Will was asking her about us. What she thought about our relationship. I confronted Will about not being clear about his motivations. It's not good for morale to have him telling officers off duty his concerns. I challenged him to have a staff meeting and stop doing it, to get him to think professionally and not personally about us."

He grinned at her and kissed her lips, and within seconds she moaned and pushed up against him -- the headache still clanged behind her forehead but her body reacted. But it was abating slightly, as she relaxed and moved over to make room for him, pulling at the front of his shirt.

"I thought you were working," she whispered as he joined her on the bed and put his arms around her.

"I was. You were confusing the hell out of me. Blocking me out before you go on a bender might be wise."

"Mmm, you feel good," she murmured, putting her arms around him. "Warm."

"We should have stayed in the hotel. At the rate things are going, it would have been a better use of the time."

"What's wrong?"

He sighed, while she burrowed in against him. "The upgrade is taking longer due to the Bynars no longer being involved. I watched Worf participate in a mini-tournament with some of the other martial arts practitioners, and on my way back to the bridge I realized you were angry. And then everything else, afterward, and then there was nothing -- you were feeling ill. I tried to contact you through the computer without success."

"I was out for a bit, I think. The ale packs a punch. I don't like to drink that much, but it was a certainty that I would not be on duty in a crisis or be needed in any capacity today and I really wanted to block out Will's anger."

Jean-Luc's body stiffened. "How is he right now?"

"Not as angry. I think he's been working out -- I told him the truth about something I should have told him a long time ago. It's hurt him. He'll get over it. I wish I had told him a long time ago." She smiled, thinking about the hotel. "How much longer is it taking to upgrade?"

"A day longer than expected. It will delay the next mission but since it's a recovery it can be delayed."

"So we could go back to the hotel?"

"You liked it that much? Maybe you should come look at my bed before you say that."

"You didn't," she exclaimed. "Did you?"

"They were selling the sheets in the gift store."

She shoved herself up slightly and leaned on his chest. "You sly, smug, evil man. I like the way you think. You didn't happen to get the recipe for the chocolate torte they have on the menu?"

"I suppose you'll have to come over and find out."

"It looks like there's an hour left of alpha shift. It's almost dinner time," she said, noting the readout on her night stand. She'd been out of it longer than she'd thought.

His hand was sliding up her back and then her head, and he pulled her down for another kiss -- a languid and intense one. They both got up and Deanna smiled down at her rumpled and stained dress. Jean-Luc reached behind her and started to unfasten it.

"I'll change, you get us dinner, I'm going to check on Beverly," she said, knowing her friends would be stirring soon. She followed him to the door, and in his usual headlong fashion he left without a glance at anything -- so he again didn't see the two women on the couch.

It took just a minute to replicate two hypos and sober them up. They woke at the sound of the hypo, both frowning, and then Tasha realized she was lying atop Beverly and flinched bodily -- it led to her sliding off and falling on the floor. Both of them were moaning and holding their heads, so the application of the next hypo, an analgesic, was welcome.

"Wow," Beverly said. "That stuff crushes you." She sat upright on the couch, then suddenly stared at Tasha, who still sat on the floor, her short yellow hair mussed and her hands over her mouth.

"Oh," Tasha exclaimed. Her cheeks were red.

"Maybe the two of you need to go to Beverly's quarters and talk about this," Deanna suggested. Obviously they remembered what they'd done.

Tasha looked up at Deanna open-mouthed, then at Beverly. "Yeah," she said tentatively. "Maybe we should."

"So much for our afternoon out, I guess," Beverly said. "I feel bad -- couldn't keep it together. Sorry, Dee."

Deanna shrugged. "I have a date. I'm fine. We can do something tomorrow if you want, apparently the upgrade is taking longer than expected."

"Ooooohhh," Tasha crooned, grinning, going sly-eyed. "Going to check out the captain's quarters?"

"You could say that."

Beverly stood up, hesitated, then offered a hand and helped Tasha up off the floor. Deanna watched them move around the coffee table, move around each other like wary creatures sizing each other up. "You want to come to mine, they're closer," Tasha said.

Beverly chewed her lower lip briefly and nodded. She shot a glance at Deanna and followed the chief of security from the room. Tasha's quarters were just next door, so they would be there in seconds.

Deanna went back to the bedroom to change, and selected something in bronze with a low back and applied dark matching lipstick. She took her clip from her hair brushed it, and left it down. She headed down to see about some chocolate, and some nice soft sheets. Outside the captain's door, she paused and checked on Will's mood. He was still angry, clearly, and somewhere several decks away. Possibly Ten Forward.

She composed herself and projected regret, sadness, and the friendly affection she had felt for him, the feelings she'd developed quite unexpectedly after the disappointment of finding out he wouldn't immediately jump into a relationship with her when he'd come aboard. It shocked him. There were a few moments of confusion and then acceptance, and sadness. That reassured her. He had been too angry for her to be able to do it, before. 

Deanna blocked him and everyone else out of her awareness, as much as she ever could; she'd gotten better at that over time. Shifted her focus to the man who was waiting for her, as she went through the door -- Jean-Luc looked up from a box he had open on the coffee table, and stood up from the couch as she approached. She took a small book from him and glanced at the cover.

"I don't believe I've ever met anyone else who had so many books," she said. "Are you going to read this to me, too?"

"If you'd like. It's a lovely collection of poems."

Deanna smiled at the book. "You shouldn't worry about Will, I think. You shouldn't worry about Beverly either -- she's spending some time with Tasha, today. In fact, you should relax and enjoy the time we have left before the ship goes back on active duty, and I am going to do the same."

He blinked at her, about to ask questions, but her hand slipped beneath his shirt, along his abdomen, then angled down under the waistband and along his hip. He tilted his head as she dropped the book back in the box and came in to kiss him. Just for a moment, and then she withdrew and looked at the rest of the contents of the box, then at the dining table on the other side of the room -- there was a vase of roses on it.

"I didn't really have anything for lunch. Are you hungry?" she asked, out of habit -- she could tell he was.

"I was thinking about duck cassoulet," he said, heading for the replicator.

"Less thinking, more doing," she commented. "My stomach is still a little queasy from the ale so nothing too spicy, please. And water for me, not wine."

"Hmm, I'm guessing that was Romulan Ale -- not that I want to know. I'm not supposed to allow that on my vessel."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm Betazoid, I have plenty of options for potent drink from my homeworld, and I don't deal with smugglers."

Jean-Luc placed a glass of water in front of her, and a basket of rolls nearby, as she sat down. "I thought it might have been something you got from another officer who may or may not have had a couple of bottles of it. There are others that I might be aware of, but not really."

"You would think they might simply change regulations. Every ship I've ever been on, there's at least one person who has a bottle."

Jean-Luc went to his bedroom for a moment and returned with a bottle of wine. "Yes, that's true. But it's almost traditional now to have that one regulation to cheat a little on, it's one of those Starfleet 'in' jokes after so many years. This is a pinot noir. Definitely not Romulan."

"I'll have a taste of yours if you open it."

He stared at the bottle for a moment, then sat it on the table. The moment of contemplation was somewhat anxiety-provoking, until he smiled at her and the pensive mood soared into happiness. "I want to thank you, for everything. I'm actually feeling good about the future at the moment -- for the first time in a while, actually."

"That may be premature. But I'll take it," Deanna said, taking a roll as her stomach warbled. "Let the future worry about itself. Where's the cassoulet?"


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angel One was hilarious in unintended ways. The clunky dialogue is from the episode. I added and embellished and filled in around the edges.
> 
> There were points where one of them would talk to another, and a third person responded instead of the officer who was asked the question. There are parts where an officer magically knows things. And the wardrobe, LOLOLOLOL. The JoAnn's fabric remnant episode.
> 
> http://sttngfashion.tumblr.com/post/8517869435/angel-one-114
> 
> "chest forest." "arm chaps." I'm dying.

"Well, I've got to say, it's kind of sexy," Tasha exclaimed with a broad grin.

Deanna stared at Will's hairy chest -- the half that was visible in the wide-open gaping front of the glittery shirt anyway -- and tried not to grin like Tasha was. She forced her eyes up to meet Will's. The costume was definitely... something.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Will exclaimed, unenthusiastic and not liking the amusement they were trying to hide. "Actually it feels quite comfortable." He strode from the room, sweeping through the gauzy curtains.

Deanna exhaled noisily when she heard a door close distantly. She exchanged a look with Tasha and both of them started to laugh -- Deanna put her hands to her cheeks but Tasha didn't bother restraining herself. She fell back to sit on the bed, or whatever the pile of lumpy cushions was called, and laughed long and loud.

"Oh, my, god," she guffawed at last.

"I've certainly seen him in better styles," Deanna said, hugging herself. "The pants were the worst part." Strange straps over folds of turquoise material -- an impractical design. The matching sequined top looked like something straight out of her mother's pajama drawer.

"So what are we supposed to do now, wait for him to call us or to come back and put his uniform back on?"

"I'm sure we won't have long to wait." Deanna looked around. "The quarters match his outfit. How odd." No accounting for taste, she supposed. It wasn't what she would consider opulent.

"It feels a little strange, that men are so subservient," Tasha said. "A lot of the cultures we've met are the opposite."

"True. But Betazoids were once very much like this, still are in some respects. There is a stereotype that persists even now that women are better suited to some jobs -- our leaders tend to be female."

"Are you doing okay?"

Deanna turned from a casual examination of the things scattered across a shelf to look at Tasha, who still sat on a cushion. "Of course."

"No, I mean -- are you doing okay with _him_?"

Deanna rolled her eyes. "Do you mean the 'him' on the away team, or the one on the ship who isn't feeling well?"

"You can tell the captain isn't feeling well?"

"He's not so far away -- the ship is in orbit. And no, he's not feeling well at all. And we're fine, to answer your question."

"You keep it to yourself so much. I mean, I was surprised he was so calm, telling you to step up to make contact and come on this mission, though. Especially given what happened last time."

Deflection seemed a wise choice. "How are you and Beverly doing?"

Tasha blushed. She wasn't so good at hiding things, but fortunately for her, no one was really paying any attention -- there weren't going to be issues with a security chief hanging around with the ship's doctor. Especially when they had been friends before, and neither of them were given to public displays of affection. It was an awkward, lurching relationship but it seemed to be limping along. It had surprised Deanna that they hadn't simply dismissed the drunken lack of inhibition as an anomaly and moved on.

"We have some good things in common, then," Deanna said with a smirk. "I'm glad you're happy."

Tasha opened her mouth, but her comm badge spoke first. "Riker to Lieutenant Yar."

"This is Yar."

"In the interests of diplomatic relations, I'll remain here with Mistress Beata while you conduct our search."

"Commander?" It stunned Tasha, but Deanna had known -- Will was focused in a way that felt so familiar to her.

"You have your instructions."

So the search was on -- Data returned, and they armed themselves with phasers. 

"I wish they weren't necessary," Deanna said, double-checking that hers was on stun.

"A justified precaution, Counselor. Mistress Beata observed that Mister Ramsey and his men are dangerous."

"Lieutenant Yar to Enterprise." Tasha glanced at Deanna and then at Data, standing up a little straighter.

"Go ahead, Tasha," came Geordi's voice. Deanna checked in again -- Jean-Luc must be very sick indeed, to not be on the bridge. He felt terrible.

"Three to beam to the location of that platinum trace, Geordi."

"Coordinates set."

"Energize."

They materialized on a ledge, and Deanna turned at once toward the man she sensed was present. There were others past him inside what appeared to be a cave. "Tasha!"

Tasha whirled with phaser at the ready, and Data had his pointed as well. But the pale-haired man in rough clothing smiled up at them, and raised a cup in their direction. "Welcome. I've been expecting you."

Deanna stepped to the edge and looked down, and started to make her way along a less-steep part of the slope toward him. Her behavior reassured Tasha, who gestured for Data to lower his phaser and follow. They made it down the hill to the cleared area around the table.

"I'm Ramsey. Have a seat." He gestured at the benches. "How did you find me?"

Before anyone else could speak, Data jumped in. "Actually, it was quite simple. Angel One has no platinum. Enterprise scanners did the rest."

"Platinum, was it?" Ramsey touched a pin on the shoulder of his jacket. "My wings. I kept them for their sentimental value."

Tasha, unlike Data, was all business. But she kept it polite. "Where are the other survivors, Mister Ramsey?"

"Oh, they're nearby. They're packing, as a matter of fact, since we can no longer remain here." He waved vaguely at the cave.

Deanna nodded. "Seven years on an alien planet, and I sense no anticipation, no excitement at being rescued."

For that, he gave her a lopsided grin. "What is it that you think you're rescuing me from? My shipmates and I have all taken wives. A few even have children. You can't rescue a man from a place that he calls his home."

Tasha turned to look at Deanna, at a loss for what to say to that -- she hadn't anticipated this. Deanna nodded slowly. "Since the population on the planet are compatible, why wouldn't you acculturate, believing you were here for the rest of your life?"

Ramsey nodded back in appreciation. "Five months in a rescue pod no bigger than this room is an eternity I hope none of you will ever have to face. When we finally made it here, we thought we'd died and gone to heaven. You've seen the women of the planet. They're tall and strong and lovely. But after the newness wore off, we started to see how the men were treated. There's no votes. There's no opinions. There's no respect."

Tasha stuck to duty. "None of which is your concern any longer, Mister Ramsey. Call the others in, please. It's time to leave."

Ramsey shrugged. "But despite their problems, Lieutenant, we happen to like it here on Angel One. We're not going anywhere."

Deanna began, "But Mistress Beata -- "

Unexpectedly, Ramsey slammed his mug on the table and stood up again. "Mistress Beata be damned! Her wish is not my command, and neither is yours. You can't force us to go."

"Mister Ramsey is correct, Counselor. The Odin was not a starship, which means her crew is not bound by the Prime Directive. If he and the others wish to stay here, there is absolutely nothing we can do about it." Data was right, unfortunately.

"Then we should return to Commander Riker," Deanna told Tasha and Data. "Inform him of this development." And interrupt his tryst with Beata -- though he wasn't enjoying it as much as she would expect.

"Yar to Enterprise," Tasha said, tapping her badge.

"Enterprise here. Go ahead." Geordi was still on the bridge, feeling stressed.

"Prepare to beam three to our previous location, Geordi. After re-grouping with Commander Riker, we'll return to the ship."

"I suggest you make that on the double, Tasha. We have a real medical emergency brewing up here. The doctor is estimating we'll all be sick soon, and she hasn't found a cure. One third of the crew is down, and the latest information from the Neutral Zone outpost is that more Romulan vessels are converging on that area."

"I'll inform the Commander. Yar out. One thing before we go. You said you were expecting us. Why?" She turned back to Ramsey.

"I can't answer that."

That was a refusal, not a lie. But he was definitely hiding something -- Deanna suspected that it had something to do with a familiar presence nearby, one of the women they had met with initially. "We wish you well, Mister Ramsey."

"Energize," Tasha said.

The transporter took them to the room they had initially met with Beata in, and Beata and Will Riker were waiting there. He still wore his 'lovely' outfit. He looked less happy, felt great concern.  
  
Beata crossed her arms, as she usually did, and radiated disapproval as she had before. "Your advanced technology has proven inadequate?"

Will was less agitated, somewhat resigned, but projected officiousness. "What happened?"

"Mister Ramsey and the other survivors refuse to leave," Deanna said. "Since they are not Starfleet and they have families here, it's difficult to make the case to them that they should leave -- some of them have children with women here."

"You gave me your solemn word," Beata exclaimed angrily.

Will was genuinely regretful. "I'm sorry, there's nothing else we can do."

"I'm sorry as well. Since you refuse to take them with you, I am left with no choice but to sentence them all to death." She stormed from the room, leaving them there.

"What's the latest on the Enterprise's medical situation?" Will asked.

"Doctor Crusher feels the virus will undoubtedly run unchecked through the entire ship. Attempts to develop a cure have so far ended in failure. Lieutenant La Forge still has Bridge command pending your return, sir." Data could put things into formal terms like no one else.

"And what about the Romulans entering the Neutral Zone?"

"The border outpost reports a contingent of seven Romulan battlecruisers within sensor range. The USS Berlin has answered the distress call. However, should hostilities erupt, both the outpost and the starship will be out-gunned. It is felt that the Enterprise's presence in the area will be a vital show of force."

"Some show of force. The Enterprise could fly on autopilot, but with that virus knocking down our crew, we're going to be in sorry shape if things turn ugly." Will frowned, rolling the situation around in his head.

"I think it's time we leave this place," Tasha exclaimed.

"It doesn't feel right to leave while Beata is determined to execute those people," Deanna exclaimed.

"She has to find them first. Ramsey and his bunch have been fugitives for years. I suspect he's pretty good at evading capture," Will said. He was looking for a solution, and not seeing one.

Deanna glanced at the door. She sensed people coming, and bringing hostility with them. "Something's wrong."

Before anyone could ask, Beata returned, her slight manservant Trent in her wake and keeping a respectful distance. "Before you go back to your ship, there's something I want you to see."

Ramsey and a handful of other men were shoved through the curtains into the room. As was Mistress Ariel -- the additional presence she had sensed back in the cave. Deanna had to hold her breath not to react -- anger, fear, and the determination of Beata told her what was about to happen.

"We were no harm to anyone. Why did you tell them where to find us?" Ramsey exclaimed, feeling betrayed.

Beata propped her hands on her hips and announced, "You brought this upon yourself. You and the traitor. One does not need the technology of the Enterprise to follow Mistress Ariel sneaking out to warn her husband. Let her stand with him now. For tomorrow they will die together."

"That's hardly necessary," Deanna blurted. "There are other options -- they have children!"

"You gave them a chance to leave, they didn't take it," Beata spat. She gestured at her own security officers. "Secure them -- I have a few things to arrange before the execution."

As the prisoners were herded out again, muttering protests at being shoved, Beata hurried out a side door. Will glanced at Deanna and the others. "I'm going to try to convince her to let us take them with us." Without waiting for a response he ran after the woman.

"I am not certain he will succeed," Data said.

"Well, better that he tries and fails than not," Tasha said. "There are lives at stake."

"He might be able to convince her to let us try to convince them. I don't think you'll convince them to leave their families." Deanna stifled a sigh. She wasn't as optimistic as she pretended.

They waited silently together, and Tasha paced like a caged cat. After what was probably only a few minutes Will returned in a hurry. "Let's go to the holding area, talk to Ramsey."

It took finding Trent and getting the little man to guide them to where Ramsey and the others were being held. Will rushed in ahead of them, and Deanna wasn't far behind Data. Tasha was frustrated being last in. She was supposed to secure the area.

Ramsey's eyes went to Deanna first, so she responded to his nonverbal question. "Mistress Beata is willing to give you a second chance. We're prepared to take your entire group with us."

He stood up from the chair; the rest of his group stayed in theirs, glaring. "That's very kind of you, but we're not going."

Tasha lost patience with it at last. "Haven't you been paying attention, Ramsey? You're scheduled to be executed tomorrow."

"We don't want to die. We don't want to leave, either. This is our home, remember?"

Will was done with patience as well. "There's no time to debate the issues. You're going with us whether you choose to go or not."

"Excuse me, Commander," Data said with his usual patience and matter-of-fact demeanor, "but removing any of these people against their will would be a violation of several Starfleet regulations, not the least of which would be the Prime Directive."

"I realize that, Mister Data. I'd rather face a court martial than live with the guilt of leaving these people to their deaths. Commander Riker to Enterprise." From the iron in his voice and the way he radiated determination, Deanna knew he meant it. She glanced at Tasha; the security officer's tension was palpable, and she glanced between the android and the first officer, concerned, wondering if Data would continue to challenge him.

"This is the Enterprise. Crusher here."

"It must be worse up there than we thought," Tasha blurted. The doctor being on the bridge in a medical crisis certainly suggested it.

Will barely hesitated. "Doctor, where is Lieutenant La Forge?"

"He's right here, but he's in bad shape."

Will almost growled, "Notify the transporter room I have fourteen to beam up."

A pause. Deanna knew what was coming -- she could tell their crew were suffering varying levels of illness.

"I can't allow it. This virus is totally out of control here. Until I know exactly what I'm dealing with, I can't let anyone new be exposed."

Will tipped his head back and ran his fingers through his short hair. He was almost at the point of shouting. "Doctor, these people are facing their deaths down here."

"They might be facing the same thing up here. Until I have a better idea of what I'm dealing with, no one can beam up. I'm sorry, Will, but you must wait."

It was difficult for him to admit defeat, but Will's determination finally flagged. "Understood. Doctor, would this virus have any effect on Mister Data?"

"Not likely."

Will pointed at Data. "You're going back there alone. I want you to get the Enterprise into the Neutral Zone before it's too late."

"This is Data, standing by to beam up."

After the transporter dissolved the android, Deanna looked around at the group of stranded humans. She met Ramsey's eyes, and turned to Will. "What of them?"

"I don't know, Deanna." He'd lost hope. He turned and left the holding area. Deanna glanced at the guards, and nodded to Tasha before turning to follow the first officer.

They went all the way back to the guest quarters they had been assigned, and found Will pacing around. "We'll find a way," Deanna said to Tasha as if they'd been talking about it on the way in.

"If you have ideas, I would like to hear them."

"I would have appreciated a chance to speak to Beata," Deanna said.

"That might work. But she's strong-willed and this time she's sticking to the decision. It's a point of pride." As if that meant he would be more successful in reasoning with the woman than Deanna might -- but it was pointless to argue, he was the ranking officer at the moment. Will vanished into the other room and returned a few minutes later, once again in uniform. And then he joined Tasha in pacing around the room. Deanna stood, leaned against the wall, tried to sense something that would give her any insight.

Deanna turned to the door as she sensed Trent coming toward them. He brushed through the curtains. "Mistress Beata invites you to witness this morning's reaffirmation of Angel One's moral imperative."

"Is that the civilized word for murder on this world?" Tasha exclaimed, frowning.

Will was as upset as Tasha. "You send Mistress Beata our regrets."

That made Trent nervous. "The Elected One will not look fondly upon -- "

Will's badge chirped. "Enterprise to Commander Riker."

"They're still here!" Tasha exclaimed, startled.

"Riker here. Data, I gave you direct orders to get to Neutral Zone immediately. Explain the delay."

"To be precise, Commander, you ordered me to reach the Neutral Zone before it is too late. After relieving Lieutenant La Forge, I computed the length of time the border outpost and the USS Berlin can safely withstand a Romulan attack, and deducted our time to destination at maximum warp speed. That leaves Doctor Crusher forty eight minutes to develop a cure for the virus."

Tasha grinned at it. "Which means there's still time for us to do something."

"Forty-eight minutes," Will echoed in pleased surprise.

"Forty seven, sir."

"Thank you for following my orders so precisely, Data." Will grinned at Trent. "On second thought, Trent, we would be honored to witness your moral imperative in action."

When they arrived in the Great Hall, a device had been erected front and center, and Beata was addressing a fairly large crowd of people gathered. The men, and their wives presumably, were standing together and surrounded by warrior women. Trent was pulling Ramsey from the group and nudging him into the device, on a platform surrounded by four pillars.

"We have determined that the heretical teachings of Ramsey and his followers are inconsistent with harmonious life on Angel One. Our patient efforts to silence revolutionary voices have failed. Therefore we are left with none but the most final alternative," Beata intoned. Deanna almost rolled her eyes at the dramatics.

Will came forward. "Mistress Beata, may I speak?"

"Is this a plea for leniency?" She glared at him, for expecting her to consider one.

"Nothing of the sort. As the governing body of Angel One, you're entitled to execute your laws or your citizens as you see fit."

She calmed, but only a little. "Make your point, so we can proceed with this unpleasant business."

"When you spoke of the prisoners, you used the term revolutionary. Indeed, death has been known to stop revolutions. But I suspect it's not a revolution that Angel One is hoping to stop. It's evolution. Mister Ramsey and the Odin survivors did not initiate the waves of dissent that are rippling through your planet. Their presence here merely reinforced the change in attitudes between men and women that was already well under way. They became symbols around whom others who shared their views could gather. You may eliminate the symbols, but that does not mean death to the issues which those symbols represent. No power in the universe can hope to stop the force of evolution. Be warned. The execution of Mister Ramsey and his followers may elevate them to the status of martyrs. Martyrs cannot be silenced."

The speech had some effect on those present, but Ramsey, while appreciative of the effort, wasn't hopeful. He was watching Trent's hand descending on a pillar in front of him. Ariel lunged forward, trying to shove past the guards. "Beata!"

"Stop," Beata exclaimed. Trent stepped away from the pillar and turned to his mistress, bemused. Beata ignored him and turned to the other mistresses present. "We will adjourn to consider your words."

Ramsey watched them go with stunned relief. He glanced at Riker. "Thank you."

Will was looking after the council, who had gone into some side room off the Great Hall. "I don't know if it was enough."

"Enterprise to Riker," came Data's voice out of the air. "We are ready to have you beamed up, Commander."

"Data, Ramsey and the prisoners are with us in the Great Hall. I want you to lock the transporter. Prepare to evacuate the entire group." Will was sure of himself again, just like that. Relieved. "But for now, stand by."

"Understood, Commander."

Deanna sensed that the council had come to a conclusion, and she was about to tell Will -- but the women swept back into the room. Beata addressed the room, but spent a moment looking at Will. "After careful consideration, this legislature has voted to stay the execution of the prisoners. Their children will be returned to them immediately. Do not rejoice prematurely. Ramsey and his followers are to be exiled to a distant and unpopulated region. Life will be difficult there with little time for revolutionary or evolutionary upheaval. As some have observed, we may be able to stop evolution, but perhaps we can reduce it to a slow crawl. For a man, you can be very clever, Commander Riker."

That was faint praise, indeed. Deanna exchanged a frown with Tasha. Will ignored the slight. "Riker to Enterprise. Belay my previous order, Mister Data. There will now be only three to beam up. Energize."

It was startling sometimes to beam up from a planet. Deanna went from a room full of anger, begrudging acceptance, joy, all extreme emotions, to the quiet of the transporter room -- O'Brien smiled at them as they stepped off the platform. Will gave the man a brisk nod and exited at once. Tasha followed, and Deanna went after them, sighing and breathing deeply, calming herself and ridding herself of the tension. She felt the subtle shift of reality as the ship went to warp while they were in the turbolift.

As they came off the lift into the bridge, Beverly was there -- she injected each of them in turn. "Welcome home. I'm just working my way around to give out the cure."

"It's good to be back," Deanna said, giving her a smile.

"Are the crew recovering?" Will asked.

"Slowly, but yes."

"And the Captain?"

Beverly grimaced. "He's stubborn. I tried to get him to go to bed, but he's suffering in the ready room. He was one of the first cases, and he'll probably continue to have symptoms for the rest of the day."

"Maybe you can talk to him?" Will asked Deanna.

"Or you could take command and let him rest," she shot back, angry that Will was expecting her to appeal to the captain on a personal level while on the bridge.

Beverly backed a couple of steps, sidled around them, and fled into the lift. "On my way to engineering."

Will glared at Deanna briefly, and headed for the ready room. She still followed him -- she wanted to talk to the captain about the mission as well.

Jean-Luc was sitting on the couch, drowsy and feeling congested. He watched them come in and seat themselves. "All went well?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.

"The crew of the Odin have families on the planet," Will said. "I'll make a full report, of course. But they chose to remain on Angel One."

Jean-Luc nodded curtly. "No difficulties?"

"Well... I wouldn't say that. In any case, I'm able to take command if you care to rest and recover? It doesn't sound like you'll be barking orders any time soon," Will said.

The captain didn't like that; his head came up slightly in defiance. But he nodded again. "You have the bridge, Number One."

Will rose from the chair and left the ready room. Jean-Luc looked at her, seated on the couch next to him, and smiled faintly.

"I'm sorry you don't feel well," she said. "I'm going to guess you haven't eaten -- I haven't had anything since this morning. We should go have something."

As they stood up, he seemed a little unsteady on his feet for a moment. It was concerning. She nearly took his arm, but suspected that wouldn't go over well. Will watched them go to the turbolift, and once inside, Jean-Luc leaned against the wall. Going down the corridor to his quarters, he walked slower and slower. She saw him inside and over to the couch, and replicated soup for both of them.

"How did it go with the council?" he whispered. "I assume you did most of the talking?"

She tried not to make a face. "There was some talk."

He lowered the mug of soup he'd been sipping and stared at her. He was, of course, aware of the frustration she felt. His own started with her response to his assumption that she had continued to be the point person with the ruling council. "Tell me," he rasped.

So she described the events as objectively as she could. She didn't add her awareness of the more intimate interactions between Will and Beata, but telling him that Riker had changed into revealing clothing and spent time in Beata's chambers appeared to do that for her.

"So the men didn't want to leave, which I understand," Jean-Luc said when she was done. "But you were the one who went to Ramsey, and Riker was...."

'It was not a manipulation. There was a mutuality to it, and he was able to convince her to let them go by reasoning with her in the end."

"You don't feel you were sidelined?"

Deanna smiled at his defensiveness. "I was assigned to find Ramsey while he remained with Beata."

Jean-Luc frowned, and sipped more soup. He wasn't so hungry but probably had had nothing to eat, either. "The people were found and accounted for, and chose to remain. So the mission was a success," he said in his strangled whisper.

"Yes. I have to say it's good to be home," she commented. "I did not appreciate the way they looked down on the men."

"Mm." Jean-Luc put the empty mug on the table.

"Come on, let's get you out of the uniform." He let her take him into the bedroom. Let her take off the uniform, put him in bed, but he grabbed her arm and appealed to her with a look -- she smiled, and sat on the edge of the bed. "Are you trying to tell me to stay?"

"You're tired, too."

"I am," she said with a sigh. "And I suppose I don't need to be on the bridge for a standoff with the Romulans. We have a couple of hours before we arrive, anyway."

That led to being held in his arms, with her head on his chest as she listened to his labored breathing. He fell asleep almost immediately. It left her to wonder what would come of Jean-Luc's frustration with his first officer. There were times that Jean-Luc would delegate to an officer, and this had been one of those -- the situation hadn't appeared to be life or death, merely the recovery of any remaining crew of a freighter, and she knew he would have let her take the mission through to its conclusion. Will hadn't followed his lead. It was concerning -- would it become another point of conflict with Will?

She closed her eyes and let herself sleep, and set the matter aside for now.


	14. Chapter 14

"Come with us," Tasha exclaimed.

Neither she nor Beverly were in uniform; they were in civilian clothes, Tasha in a bright green and gold pantsuit and Beverly in a dress that matched her eyes. They weren't having any qualms about being seen together in Ten Forward; the more time passed, the less anxious either of them were about anything. Deanna smiled at her friends and shook her head. She knew where she needed to be.

"You hardly spend time with us any more," Tasha chided, grinning. "I'd guess that must mean you've had a better offer?"

"I've had a long day full of appointments. I'm just a little too tired for Ten Forward -- it's going to be busy, now that we're under way again and people have the time."

"She's right, it'll probably be packed -- maybe we should go to a holodeck?" Beverly asked.

"Yeah, if there's one free," Tasha said. "If Ten Forward's that busy they'll be reserved."

"I hear the view from the aft conference room on deck two is nice. And you can't get in there unless you're a senior officer." Deanna winked and started away down the corridor. "See you tomorrow, in class if not before."

She walked along the corridor from her door as her friends went for the lift arm in arm. She debated at the captain's door -- Jean-Luc was in one of his pensive, contemplative moods. The debate was short. His door opened, and he stood inside looking at her. "Coming in?"

"I wasn't sure if I should. You were so preoccupied." She went slowly in, and he turned and put his arm around her, accompanying her over to the couch. "You're thinking deep thoughts, tonight."

"How is Mrs. Jameson?"

Deanna settled in, curling up her legs, leaning against him. "She's mourning, of course. But she will be all right."

"I never expected it would end that way. I had hoped we could find a way to save him."

"Sometimes people feel desperation, and do foolish things. I could see how someone trapped in a chair as Admiral Jameson was would long for the ability to walk again." Deanna smiled sadly, thinking about the disabled admiral and the determination he had had. "He had a terrible disease that prematurely aged him, as well. For a proud man, a difficult thing to accept."

Jean-Luc was feeling a strange mix of emotion that took a little attention to unravel. He saved her the trouble of guessing. "And we are all proud men, we Starfleet officers. Are we not?"

Deanna raised her head, put her chin on his shoulder, looked at him from inches away. "So we're not really talking about Jameson any more. You're thinking about yourself."

"A tendency of mine, the older I get. To think about how the past will shortly make up the majority of my life."

"Hmmm," she purred, putting her arm across his chest and draping herself so her lips brushed his neck. "I suspect then that you will want to pack as much sex as you can in the five minutes you have left?"

He started to laugh at it, shocked and delighted by her suggestion. Before he stopped, he put both arms around her and kissed her, effectively silencing himself. It was easier than she thought to shift his mood, then. She smiled as they parted.

"You wanted me to agree with you, didn't you?"

He chuckled. "You can do as you wish."

"Excellent." She kissed him again, this time letting her fingers wander down to pull at his uniform. It was perhaps a sign of progress that the chime didn't go off right away, but waited until she had his pants undone and the shirt put aside.

"You should wait for me in the bedroom," he said, pushing his shirt in her hands.

"Are you sure about that?"

While he eyed her suspiciously, the chime sounded again. "I'll take my chances. Go on."

"As you wish."

It took very little time to shimmy out of the day's pantsuit and tear the pins and the beaded band from her hair, and she almost dove into the buttery-soft covers. She waited for him with anticipation tempered by awareness of the reality of being a starship captain. When he finally arrived, still bare-chested but in the pants, he had lost the excitement.

"Will wanted to talk," he said.

Deanna wiggled around, inching over to the middle of the bed as he sat on his side of it and raised a foot to remove a boot. "About the mission?"

Jean-Luc harrumphed quietly at her. "For a minute. I suspect you would accuse him of the same -- talking about himself without talking about himself."

"He's feeling old," she murmured.

"You had lunch with him today?"

It was an easy guess he made -- she did, once a week, usually under the auspices of official business. "It isn't the first time he has voiced such a sentiment."

Jean-Luc eyed her over his shoulder, then switched feet and started on the other boot. "Next you'll tell me that old is a relative term."

"He can't play parises squares or anbo-jyutsu like he used to, when he was twenty. He doesn't like that he's starting to see a little gray in his hair, so he has it colored." She sighed, when he felt surprise. "Many humans start to see gray hair earlier than they would like; that's hardly abnormal. I'm not likely to see any in mine until I'm in my seventies, because Betazoids don't go gray at all, and I'm mostly Betazoid in genetic terms. I don't feel old until one of the ensigns comes in to tell me about how heartbroken they are, that the long distance relationship with the perfect man, or woman, of their dreams, who they met and graduated with, or met on leave, or some variation thereof, failed utterly because it was too difficult. Or the relationship never even started, because we all know we're shipping out to ships and starbases far and wide and never bother to attach."

"Oh, yes, I remember that," he said with a heavy heart.

"What was her name?"

A great sigh, at that. "Jenice." Now he was sitting on the edge of the bed staring at the wall, wandering somewhere in the distant past, she guessed.

"She was beautiful, and almost enough to keep you on Earth."

His head turned slowly, until he had twisted at the waist to look at her. "You said you weren't a telepath."

"It's not an unusual story. I'm sorry, Jean-Luc."

"I regret that I was a coward most of all," he exclaimed, almost flinging himself on his back on the bed. He laced his fingers, hands resting on his belly. "I was supposed to meet her at a cafe in Paris. I left her sitting there. Never contacted her, never heard from her."

Deanna pushed herself up on an elbow, and brought her left arm out from under the covers to lay it on his bare arm. "It's only too late to apologize if she is dead, you know."

He stared at her with awe, that made her wonder. After a long silence, his lips tipped up at the corners. "I forget at times that you are not human."

"What does that even mean?" It wasn't the first time someone had said that to her, or something similar.

"You're telling me to contact my first real love to apologize to her for never showing up. Why would you want me to do that?"

Deanna smiled at his incredulity. "Are you going to fall in love with her again if you do? She's very unlikely to be anything like the young woman she was, just as you are not the same young man who left her in the lurch and disappeared into the galaxy at large. And I suspect that if you think about the current circumstance, you might see why I wouldn't be terribly worried." The current crew complement held her former fiancé and someone he used to harbor unrequited feelings for, not a situation that had made it easy.

He laughed, very softly, and raised his hands to his eyes to cover them with his palms briefly. "Of course. I envy your ability to be rational in such matters."

"I can be rational about your matters. Should I tell you how irrational I was about my own?"

He sat up, and moved to pick up the covers and join her under them. "Only if you want to. Perhaps not the best conversation to have, if...."

"I'm not wanting to talk about it at the moment, no. But I'm willing to at some point. Not that it would matter. My history with other people isn't relevant at this point."

"Although it is somewhat, since Will is on board. I would like to know one thing," he said. Then immediately regretted saying it.

"Jean-Luc?"

"Has it been my imagination, that Beverly is... glowing?"

Deanna giggled at him. "No. Oh, no, she's having a lovely time, even as we speak." She'd been focusing on Jean-Luc more and blocking everyone else out, trying not to pay attention to that.

"Oh." Then he struggled with words, for a few seconds. "Um."

"It's only a week and a half old. I'm not going to tell you who it is. Even though she's not really making it a clandestine sort of thing."

It took only seconds. "Oh," he said, with a jolt of surprise. "So... Yar? Really?"

"Really." While he thought about it she wriggled in close and started to unfasten his pants again. It distracted him, and then he was working with her to get them off. And then she lay against him with her arm on his chest. His arm came up around her, his hand coming to rest over the back of her neck, after brushing some of her hair out of the way. 

He was a unique man in many ways, not at all what she would have expected from the captain she had met before coming aboard. She understood well enough that the professional demeanor of an officer wouldn't be the complete picture; she wouldn't have expected him to be comfortable with this, however. He had been almost aversive to being touched, radiating tension if someone happened to brush against him. She had considered asking him as a counselor about past traumas, in the line of duty, in hopes of uncovering what might have led to such anxiety and stiffness around other people. 

But when she came over -- it was usually that rather than the reverse, simply because he had the larger bed with the soft sheets -- he wasn't the same. It was like being pulled in by gravity, and it was mutual, being drawn into each other's arms. Unlike the other men she had been intimate with, he wasn't always interested in sex when he touched her. He enjoyed her touch, and she refrained from commenting and enjoyed it with him. Not having to ask was very much to his liking. Being able to tell how she felt, or vice versa, was an effective way of understanding each other's preferences in the physical part of the relationship. 

He was thinking about something and quite content, at the moment. His thumb kept sweeping along her neck, just a short caress, over and over across an inch of skin -- not even an intentional movement, apparently, and when she shrugged a little and shifted against him for the sake of movement it stopped for a bit. 

"I appreciate it, you know," he said lazily. When he was relaxed his voice dropped a bit lower. "All of this. I've never had a relationship like this before."

"Neither have I."

That sparked a moment of curiosity. But he didn't ask. "I didn't know what to expect. I had difficulty at first with adjusting to having someone else in the room when I'm trying to sleep."

"For someone who has slept alone for most of his life, it makes sense." She had stayed with him when invited, and for the past week that had been every other night.

"Yet last night I awakened and reached for you, and felt disappointment that you weren't here."

She smiled, as his thumb started to move again. "I could stay tonight, if you like."

"I was hoping you might. Have you had anything to eat?" He could tell, then, that she was starting to feel a little hungry.

"I'm fine for the moment. Let's get some dinner in a while, I'm comfortable here."

More than comfortable, in fact. She fell asleep for a while. Both of them came awake and sat up when the computer announced someone at the door. 

"I forgot to secure the door. Who do you suppose it is?" He stood and walked around the bed to the closet, taking out his robe and throwing it on. He held out the one she had left here to wear around his quarters; he preferred the ambient temperature at night to be a little cooler than she liked. 

"It's Will, again. He's not upset or concerned or excited -- maybe he's wanting to invite you along to the holodeck?"

"Hmph." While he went out to address the matter, she went into the bathroom. By the time she came out again she could tell they were talking about something. She decided to study the titles on the bookshelf in the headboard, and dropped on her stomach on the bed, crossing her arms to cradle her chin while she studied the spines of the books. Still drowsy, she closed her eyes after a minute and rested her head on her arms. 

A hand on her leg startled her fully awake -- then Jean-Luc had both hands on her thighs, sliding them up beneath the robe, and then the bed shifted as he crawled up between her legs and settled on top of her. 

"Hello," she said with a grin while he nibbled her neck. "What did he want?"

"The jazz ensemble is playing in Ten Forward in a half hour. I told him I was busy."

"You appear to be very interested in being busy." His erection was pressing against her right buttock.

"It's the view," he murmured along her shoulder while pushing her robe up.

Instead of trying to roll over, she raised her hips against him, dragged one of the pillows down to bunch it up beneath her for support. It was a position previous partners hadn't attempted often, and it excited him so much that she suspected it was the case for him as well. He liked it almost as much as she did; the angle of approach led to a different feel, more friction and stimulation than before for her, and he very much wanted that to go on and on -- stopped the thrusting as he came close, trying not to come. She took advantage of the pause to move, and he cooperated, rising on his knees in the middle of the bed and waiting to see what she wanted. She came up on her knees in front of him and pushed him over, nudging him on his back, settled astride him and started to move her hips with an urgency he liked very much.

He laughed when he came, catching her when she fell forward against his chest, and when the tension drained rapidly from him and left him in that usual state of near-dormancy, she kissed him gently, holding his head in her hands. Recovery took only a few minutes. His arms tightened around her. 

"You lovely woman," he murmured. 

"If you like body fluids and messy hair."

His only response was a soaring, happy feeling that made her grin along with him. He hummed and kissed the side of her head, and loved her. "I love you. I love your messy hair."

"Not my wet, warm, happy and -- oh," she blurted as his hand found its way between them and one fingertip slipped in. "Ooooohhh."

"Come for me," he whispered, rolling her swollen clit between his fingers. She shook with pleasure, but he wasn't satisfied with that. Two fingertips grazed her labia, and then he was pushing in -- somehow he managed to keep his thumb working around her clit and slide two fingers into her. She cried out and felt as though she might be coming apart -- he kept her pinned against him with his left arm, holding her right thigh with his wet fingers while she trembled, ready and eager when she recovered enough to kiss him. 

After a moment they shifted and sprawled together on the cover; this time it was his turn to throw an arm across her and pull her close. He sighed, and started to drift into slumber.

"So were you wanting to go to Ten Forward?" she murmured.

"I want to eat something, in a minute. Possibly have a shower."

"A bath?"

"I'm beginning to think I'm seeing an amphibian." 

"You don't object to baths. You appear to like touching my wet skin." She wriggled against him by way of example. 

"I am discovering that there are a great many things that I like about you, including some things I had not been aware that I might develop a preference -- there's this matter of wanting to read poetry to you. Also this ridiculous urge, to reach out and touch parts of you that a starship captain really shouldn't consider touching while he's on the bridge."

"Would it help if I switched to uniforms during the day?"

"No, please don't," he said at once. His displeasure with that idea lent a stiffness to him that made him less comfortable to snuggle with. 

They got up and took showers, ostensibly one at a time but with interference, as he grabbed her ass at least twice to make her laugh, and while he took his turn she threw cold water on him in retaliation, which led to being chased around the bathtub by a dripping naked man. Then the process of deciding what they wanted to do ensued -- she prolonged the conversation by distracting him with carefully-timed leaning to brush his chest with her bare breasts. That led to a decision to sally forth to Ten Forward -- Deanna knew that it was no secret by now, after a month of people talking it around the ship, that they were together. Being seen out and about together wasn't going to scandalize anyone. No one had a strong opinion about it, that she could tell. Except for occasional flutterings of dismay from Will, of course. 

She replicated a tiny black dress and wriggled into it. Struck a pose in front of the mirror. Jean-Luc turned from pulling a long-sleeved dark brown shirt over his head and stopped cold. "Oh, no," he said warily. 

"You don't like it?"

"Too short, and why -- " He stepped over to her and pulled up the short skirt to reveal her bare buttock. "Deanna!"

"All right, I'll change," she said, though she wasn't upset about it -- she had known better, didn't intend to flaunt herself that way in public among people she saw as clients, but felt confident enough to tease him a little. "I'll save things like this for leave."

"Or breakfast," he murmured, pulling her back against himself.

"Okay," she said with a smile. He let her go, turned back to his closet, and she made a show of pushing the dress down and off. But he had good self control, and a long refractory period.

After replicating a set of underwear she chose a dress not unlike the ones she wore during the day, but in a dark burgundy. She wound her hair up on her head and re-used the beaded band she had tossed away earlier. 

"We'll have something to eat in Ten Forward," he said as they left his quarters and her stomach started to really protest. They left the lift on deck ten and strolled the short distance to Ten Forward. His hand descended on her back and slid down over her ass.

"So off duty captains can touch things that on duty ones can't?" 

"Just getting one in before joining the crowd," he muttered as the door opened. The jazz ensemble was in full Dixieland mode, and the trombone faltered as she entered ahead of him -- Will hadn't expected to see them -- but picked up the melody again in a second. Deanna hesitated and scanned the crowd, and saw that the only two empty seats in close proximity of each other were at a table occupied by Beverly and Tasha, over near the viewports. Both women were staring at them, and then as if they were Betazoid, simultaneously started to grin in sly teasing ways that said they approved. 

Deanna reached back without looking to touch his arm, and started for the table. They arrived as the song finished and the crowd applauded, and Beverly took advantage of the lull. "Well, hello, strangers. Good to see you."

"Are they any good?" Deanna asked, tucking her skirt as she sat down. Jean-Luc took the fourth chair at the round table, on her right. That led to Tasha sitting on his right, trying very hard to not be gleeful and evil in his direction. 

"I really couldn't say," Beverly said, with a little too obvious of an eye roll. "I'm no music critic."

"Will tries, but I suspect he hasn't practiced much since last time," Deanna said, glancing over her shoulder -- the small ensemble was starting to play again, something jazzy but not Dixieland. One of Guinan's helpers appeared then to take orders. When she went away to get their drinks, Deanna turned to stare at Tasha. 

"Sorry," Tasha muttered, trying to stop grinning. Then she wrinkled her nose. "I thought you said you were too tired to come?"

"I took a nap," Deanna said, straight-faced.

"Oo-oooh, I see," Tasha drawled, nodding sagely.

Jean-Luc wasn't quite as happy as when they had come in. "Should we find somewhere else to sit?" 

Deanna turned a subdued smile on Jean-Luc. "I'm not sure there is anywhere else to sit. I've never seen it this crowded."

"We were hoping it would thin out after the dinner hour," Tasha said. "I think it's gotten worse since we've been here."

"Maybe Will is paying everyone to come?" Deanna looked up as Dina put drinks in front of them. "Thank you."

Jean-Luc pointed at her glass full of layered neon colors. "What is that?"

"So suspicious," Deanna said. "We can't get alcohol in Ten Forward, so no need to be concerned that I'll be drunk."

He snorted into his tea. Tasha was grinning again. Behind Deanna, someone arrived, casting a shadow on her. She angled her head right to look up and back, at Dave Ayers.

"Hi, Counselor," he exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of his feet once. "Nice to see you."

"Lieutenant," she scolded gently.

He grinned on, oblivious. "Want to come dance with me?" He waved a thumb to his left, indicating a few people who had started to dance in the space in front of the band, which played on merrily.

"I don't dance. Sorry." She turned back to Jean-Luc, who was watching her with some ire and showing it only with a raised eyebrow, at her, as he did his best to ignore the lieutenant.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

Deanna leaned again to stare up at the man. "I already bought myself one," she said flatly. It wasn't even possible to buy drinks, in Ten Forward, but it was common to offer as a way of expressing interest.

Dave had been in the process of bouncing again, and went flatfooted. He backed a step and left, forthwith.

"You said he was dense. I guess you were right," Tasha said, waving her half-gone synthale.

"I told him to leave me alone," Beverly said. "You were nicer about it than I was."

Deanna shook her head ruefully, and smiled at Jean-Luc. "Do you enjoy jazz?"

"Not my favorite kind of music," he confessed.

"So you're here for the company," Beverly said with a mercenary grin. "You must have finally gotten lonely, sitting alone reading your moldy old books."

"It took a little more motivating than that, to pry him out," Deanna said. Then she realized the mild discomfort Jean-Luc was feeling simply being in Ten Forward when it was this crowded had increased. "I had to promise him Will's ability to play the trombone had improved. I'm afraid that might have been an exaggeration."

Tasha laughed loudly at it -- possibly with more amusement than was warranted. Jean-Luc knew what she'd done; he gave her a subdued smile, and left her wondering why he felt a bit sad.

They made it through another song, finishing their drinks, and said good-night to their friends; Deanna was relieved to escape as she really didn't like jazz very much. People were watching them leave, but not with any real shock or amusement. Neither of them said anything until they were in the lift. By then, she thought she had a good guess about his sudden sadness.

"Thank you for going with me," she said. "I'm usually the boring one."

He stared at her -- he couldn't disbelieve her, he knew she was telling the truth as she now left an open connection between them all the time. But he was stunned.

"I don't like big groups of people like that," she went on. "It's very tiring for me. I hope we don't do that often."

Jean-Luc sidled closer and slid his arm around her. As the lift stopped, he walked with her through the door and down the corridor to his door.

"What's wrong?" she asked, though it wasn't that anything was wrong, necessarily. He was having difficulty articulating how he felt. But he led her into the bedroom and went about getting ready for bed, and when she came to join him under the covers he kissed her lingeringly and fell asleep happy, with her spooned tightly against him.

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coming of Age was a weird episode.

Jean-Luc did not like the way the atmosphere on his ship had changed. Tension hung in the air, especially as he walked the corridors here and there. People weren't relaxed as they typically were when the ship was in orbit around a Federation world. 

There was nothing to be concerned about, he was certain. Any investigation would find nothing. Quinn's concern, whatever it was, had to be paranoia on someone's part. The real issue was whether something would be perceived as a concern. Investigations, even when all parties were cleared of wrongdoing, had a way of tearing things apart.

He walked and walked, rather than pacing circles in the ready room, and as he approached another turbolift it opened. Deanna, wearing her gray pantsuit, strode out and smiled at him as they came to a halt facing each other in the corridor.

"I see we're handling things the same, today," she commented quietly. "Walking it off."

"You've spoken to Remmick?"

"I thought that all our reports and logs had been reviewed after each mission and nothing found amiss," she said. "Surely there can't be anything -- yet he questions things I had thought were resolved and settled -- I can't help second guessing myself now."

"Yes, well, it's not just you," Jean-Luc muttered, with a wry turn of a smile. "Will looks like he's about to have his own warp core breach. He's wearing holes in the carpet on the bridge as we speak."

"Instead of spreading the wear and tear through the corridors on deck twenty-two?" She turned to walk alongside him as he started off again.

"I was afraid I'd run into him every few seconds, if I restricted my pacing to the bridge," he replied, crossing his arms. He'd caught himself barely in time; putting an arm around her here in a corridor while they were in the middle of an investigation of some unknown incident seemed more risky somehow despite the fact that they were far from Remmick's beady eyes.

"Are you worried that it's really about us?" she asked softly as they entered the lift. Picking up on his thoughts, perhaps? "That all of the questions about missions are misleading window dressing?"

"In a paranoid moment, I thought it might have been something based in gossip about us. But Will said they didn't ask about that directly. No, this is something else. I hope it ends today -- I'm concerned about morale. Deck eight."

She stared at the floor as the car started to move upward. "Perhaps I should stay in my quarters tonight."

He inhaled sharply -- exhaled slowly. "Deanna, don't start acting as though we're doing something wrong."

She had been with him at night more often than not, over the past weeks. They were in a routine now, a close orbit, and often spent the off hours working quietly in the same room -- he had discovered just how much a counselor did outside the hours spent with clients, between keeping up with the latest research, continuing education and other things he had not been aware were status quo for psychologists. He saw very little of her when they were on duty unless she came to the bridge, as before -- and finally things had normalized with the crew. No more smirking glances.

"More concerned that they are thinking we have done something than about anything we've done. And about giving them a reason to start questioning the crew about that. Admiral Quinn is suspicious and afraid," she said as the lift halted. "I haven't met him but I can sense him well enough, he stands out to me as a new presence on the ship. Remmick is nervous and determined."

"I've known Quinn for years. This isn't like him." As they strolled down the corridor toward his quarters, someone came marching along around the gentle curve toward them. Remmick, he saw -- it was perhaps understandable that he felt an internal jolt of wariness and went stiff. "Commander," he greeted the man sternly.

"Captain. Counselor." Remmick looked Jean-Luc in the eye, in that direct, almost aggressive way of his. "I would like to speak to you in your quarters, sir."

Jean-Luc nodded to Deanna; she smiled pleasantly and turned to backtrack slightly to her own door, and disappear into it. "This way, Mr. Remmick," he said, gesturing forward.

Remmick followed him in, and once the doors closed behind him, came to attention in the center of the living room, though his eyes traveled around the shelves, the desk, the walls. "Sir."

"I thought we had finished the question and answer session. Was there something else you needed?"

"I need to know what you haven't told me."

Jean-Luc sniffed at that. "Earl Grey, hot." He plucked the cup from the replicator. Turning with tea in hand, he said, "You'll have to help me with that -- narrow it down a bit. My life story is longer than it used to be."

"I think you know what I'm talking about."

"I haven't the foggiest notion, actually. I don't know why you've thrown my crew into a state of confusion and anxiety, nor do I know what it is that you have been saying to any of them. I'm waiting for you to finish whatever it is you are here to do and leave, so I can go back to the business of Starfleet."

Remmick's grim smile was not reassuring. "You're hiding something."

Jean-Luc smirked at that. "I have nothing to hide -- you have full access to my logs and my crew, as ordered, and I've answered your questions. You could probably have a look at my medical records as well if that would help matters."

"Your staff are not being forthcoming, Captain. They're protecting you."

"Or, you are interpreting their frustration as defensiveness. I could think of several interpretations. But feelings are not the point, are they?"

Remmick stared at him for a moment. "What were you talking to the counselor about?"

"You, if you must know. How you're affecting morale aboard this vessel."

Remmick's eyes narrowed. He strutted at the door and out, without another word. Jean-Luc stared at the closed door and thought about the exchange, and pondered what it meant.

Deanna arrived a short time later, likely after she had sensed that Remmick had cleared the deck. Something in her eyes concerned him. "What's wrong?"

"There's just something wrong about that man," she said, making a face that usually coincided with tasting something she didn't like.

Jean-Luc waved his mug of tea in the direction of the couch, and she followed him over -- instead of sitting with him she sat apart, hands folded in her lap. Counselor Troi, being careful. He shook his head at it, gave her a scolding look.

"Remmick is looking for something. I don't intend to give him anything, even a suspicion. There's something about him that isn't right," she insisted.

"Is this something you sense? Come in," he called as the annunciator sounded.

Will came in, still wearing the scowl. "Remmick just charged onto the bridge and appropriated your ready room."

Jean-Luc waved a hand dismissively. "Let him. Have a seat. You were saying?"

"His record says he's human," Deanna said. "But there's something unsettling about him. He doesn't read as human."

Will dropped to sit on the edge of the chair, elbows on his knees, and looked at Deanna with knitted brows. Jean-Luc frowned. He could tell, now that she was talking about it, that it truly bothered her. "Could he be under alien influence?"

"He might be. It's difficult to say. He just feels wrong to me."

It was more obvious now to him that the vagueness Deanna often had when describing these phenomenon was more about the restrictions imposed on her by Standard than by limitations of her empathy -- now that he could feel what she sensed directly it was obvious that there was more to it than that. 

"Do we have any insight into what they really expect to find?" Will asked. "He was picking apart several missions, blaming you for anything he could criticize you for. I think he'd blame you for stars going nova if he could make the case for it."

"Which missions?" Deanna asked.

They compared lists -- Jean-Luc sighed, at the futility of attempting to solve the problem. More than anything else, it told him that even if Will still experienced internal discord at the thought of Deanna being with him, he had a loyal first officer. Neither of them were uncomfortable at the moment; they were treating the investigation as a mission. 

"This isn't helping," Jean-Luc said at last. "I know it feels as though we're helpless, but it's going to end soon. They can't find nothing for more than a day or so before they call it quits, surely."

"What if it really is something?" Deanna asked.

"You're aware of some misconduct that I'm not? Even if someone reported _us_  to them, there's literally nothing actionable -- nothing they could court-martial us for. And you can trust that I have seen courts-martial that have been based in mistakes that were made based in friendship."

Deanna gazed down at the couch between them, looking sad, but he knew she felt conflicted and torn -- she appreciated his confidence, trusted him, but not Remmick or the admiral.

"You know I would do the best I could to defend against any accusations," Will said. 

"While I appreciate that, I have to ask that you defend the truth," Jean-Luc replied. "Because that would be more important to me."

Will looked away immediately. There was some guilt implicit in the behavior, but before he could ask, Will gave him what he might have requested anyway. "I appreciate that. I think you should know that I believed for a while that it would be a problem. That your relationship would be, I mean. But I can't see that it has been. My concern with it is actually a more personal one."

Deanna's immediate ire was somewhat concerning. Jean-Luc didn't look at her, but responded to Will. "I appreciate your saying so -- I find myself doubting reality in this situation, after all the questioning."

"I seriously wondered for a moment if I had missed something," Will exclaimed. "He's so insistent that something is wrong -- but never gives a hint what it is he thinks is wrong. I don't like it. They're fishing, like someone started a rumor and someone up high took it seriously, and that started me guessing it might be something to do with your relationship -- but there's nothing at all that suggests it's true. I keep asking myself and reviewing my own logs, trying to understand what I missed."

"Do you have any enemies in Starfleet?" Deanna asked, in a quiet, low voice that was unlike her. Jean-Luc turned to find her watching with wide eyes, waiting for a reply.

"Perhaps there are people who are upset with decisions I've made in the past. I can't imagine any of them being malicious about it, however. The most aggressive actions taken against me have been from the Ferengi."

The computer interrupted whatever she was about to say -- she glanced at the door and immediately felt fear, and sat up straight. "I think it's the admiral."

And so it was. Quinn strode in and his confusion showed in his face, as he glanced from Riker to Troi.

"Admiral," Jean-Luc acknowledged, rising slowly from the couch. The other two followed suit. They waited for Quinn to speak.

"Well, Jean-Luc," he grumbled, "you run a tight ship."

"Was all of this really necessary?" Jean-Luc asked, exasperated, even a little angry despite the immense relief he felt.

Quinn was attempting jovial comradary, with a little smile. "Remmick was quite impressed, you know. He requested that if there were any positions open that he be considered for duty aboard the _Enterprise_."

Jean-Luc agreed with Deanna, who felt an immediate revulsion for the idea. He said nothing and stared at the admiral, trying not to look too angry.

"Don't judge the young man too harshly. He's a good officer."

"It's not him I'm inclined to judge."

"Don't judge me too harshly either, until I've finished. We had to be very sure of you. Some of us at Starfleet Command became suspicious of certain problems in the Federation." Quinn glanced at Deanna then, and at Will. But he didn't dismiss them. "We should discuss this one on one, Jean-Luc."

"After everything you put them through, I intend to tell them about it -- I know that I can trust both of them. I need no interrogations to know that." Jean-Luc frowned at him. "What kind of problems?"

"Something or someone is trying to destroy the fabric of everything we've built up in the last two hundred years."

A curious thing to say. Jean-Luc crossed his arms. "What's your evidence?"

"I can't go into that. There are too many people involved."

"What do you want from me, Greg? Why all this questioning and suspicion?"

"I don't know whether the threat comes from the inside or whether it's from outside. I need people I can trust in strong positions throughout the Federation."

"You have my complete support. You know that."

"That's not enough. I want to promote you to Admiral, and I want you to take over as Commandant of Starfleet Academy."

That was unprecedented. There were options open to him, now that he was a seasoned captain -- usually Starfleet gave captains choices, to stay on starships or to move into the flag ranks. A particularly favored captain could have his choice of assignments. Jean-Luc had actually thought about other opportunities for a minute or two, here and there, when he began to let himself think about the future -- Deanna's presence sent his thoughts along different paths, now. But it was too soon for actual decisions. 

At least he had thought it was. "The Academy," he echoed, startled, and again, "The Academy?"

"I need you close," Quinn insisted.

Deanna didn't move, didn't look at him, but she projected fear -- it had to be what she sensed from the admiral.

"Then there was never a problem with the Enterprise."

"No, but I had to be sure you hadn't been co-opted."

"Greg, this is politics, and I'm not good at politics. Surely there are others who are better suited."

"All right. Even if I am wrong, and I hope I am, you're still the best man for the job."

Jean-Luc sighed, as quietly as he could, and stared at the floor for a moment, completely aware that his two officers were watching him like hawks. "I appreciate the value of what you're offering. It's not a decision I can make quickly."

"I need an answer soon," Quinn exclaimed, bringing out the smile again. "Give it serious thought, Jean-Luc."

"All right. You'll have it tonight, Admiral. Thank you."

Quinn spun about and left without another glance at Will or Deanna. Jean-Luc sat down, letting his arms fall to the couch beside him. "There's the end to it, then," he said with a sigh.

"Then we can get back to normal -- I'm going to let the rest of the bridge crew we're okay, get everyone back to focusing on their work instead of worrying about this." Will headed out at a quick clip, leaving them there.

"He's worried you are considering the promotion," Deanna said, perching on the edge of a couch cushion.

He watched her fold her hands in her lap, with a little too much white-knuckling. And she'd stopped projecting her feelings -- it left him feeling somewhat empty. "Come here," he said, reaching.

At once, she moved over, taking his outstretched hand -- briefly, before sitting close and letting him put his arm around her.

"You're afraid. Stop that."

Her hands went to her face, covering her eyes. Trying to hide?

"I love you, and you need to talk to me. Tell me what you're thinking."

"It doesn't matter," she blurted. Obviously she was crying. "What do you want to do?"

"I want you to understand that I wouldn't consider taking that promotion if it doesn't suit my needs. Right now I need to understand what's going on with you."

"I want you to tell me what you would decide if I were not -- "

"You are, and that's a pointless exercise." He turned slightly, touching her chin to guide it upward so she would look at him, nudging her arm out of the way. "Are you afraid that I will, or that I won't?"

She wouldn't look at him, just shook her head and turned away.

"I wouldn't, in either scenario. I want to be here."

It did the trick; she unbent, let him pull her in close at last, letting her head rest against his shoulder. "Okay."

"So I'll see you for dinner, then."

She re-established their two way connection, and flooded him with happiness.

"Unless you'd rather stay here until then?"

A chuckle from her. "Is that what you want?"

"I am supposing that we have the time. Mr. Crusher's exam should be completed soon, but until he beams up from Relva Seven along with the members of the crew who are also on the planet taking a few hours off, we're in orbit and waiting. So I can indulge a whim, if you have one."

"I do." She smiled and reached across to curl an arm around him, leaned, and once they were collapsed against the couch, she sighed audibly and relaxed.

"Okay," he murmured, sliding his hand down the curve of her hip to let it rest there.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heart of Glory was also peculiar, given all the fuss about Geordi's visor being able to transmit to the ship what he was seeing -- we already have GoPros after all. Another episode that only part of the cast participated in. Worf and Tasha were handling the Klingons, so I'm going to guess the rest were all doing other things..."
> 
> In the Naked Now, Deanna throws herself at Riker and offers him the chance to have a little fun with "me in your mind." Going to assume she meant something deliciously tempting by that. We never find out what she really meant in the episode since he carries her off to sickbay instead of indulging.

"Oh, that was lovely," Beverly exclaimed, wiping her face with the towel she'd picked up along with her water bottle.

"I felt like I was trying to tie myself in a knot," Deanna said. She glanced around the room at the other students, all still working through an asana. "Computer, cancel program." The yoga studio on the platform overlooking the ocean vanished, leaving them in the holodeck on the grid.

"Let's go sit and have something to drink."

"Yes, I think we should. My place or yours? I am not going to Ten Forward in tights."

Beverly gave her a bemused look. "This from you? I've seen you in more revealing outfits in more crowded environments."

"This is the ship, I'm not interested in being so revealing around my clients."

"I think you're being more careful because of who you're with." She shot her a look as they left the holodeck and ambled down the corridor. Deanna sighed at the muscle soreness in her hips and thighs. 

"I think I'm just self concious about being caught in tights."

"It seems to be going really well with him," Beverly almost whispered as they entered the lift. She was quite happy about it, too, smiling and radiating pleasure at the thought of her friends being suited to each other. It was the first time she'd commented in some time, at least three or four weeks.

"I think so." 

"I wonder sometimes whether you'll join the rest of us in Ten Forward again, at some point after the honeymoon is over."

Deanna smiled at that. Instead of ~~~~imposing the reality that she and Jean-Luc were fairly boring and predictable, with dinners, reading books and having discussions about them, she asked, "Why do you think we're having some sort of honeymoon?"

They left the lift on deck eight and went into Deanna's quarters, as they were the first they came to - Deanna replicated a couple of glasses of cold tea and handed one to Beverly as she sat down with her on the sofa. "Are you not having mad sex every time you go over there?"

"I'm not even sure how to respond to that," Deanna exclaimed, sure that her cheeks must be red. There was sex, some of the time, of course. But not that much of it. "Why would you even think that?"

"He's crazy about you," Beverly chided, sipping her tea. "Deanna, the way he looks at you sometimes -- I don't think anyone isn't thinking that about you. Maybe Worf, or Data."

"We get along well enough, I suppose."

Beverly started to giggle at her. "Oh, sure."

"What's been going on with you?" Deanna suspected she knew, even though there had been no discussion of her and Tasha for weeks either, and Beverly's sudden sobriety confirmed it. 

"I'm okay."

"I thought you were more than okay, for a while."

Beverly gave a one shouldered shrug and drank tea, and looked away, at the watercolor painting Deanna had hung over the sofa. "It was just one of those things. It's not that we aren't still friends. But we really don't have a lot in common, and after the newness wore off...."

"I wish it wasn't so difficult to find someone," Deanna said softly. 

"I know. So do I." Beverly shook her head slowly, musing. "We might get together once in a while, but it's not the same -- Jack was my partner. I don't know if I'll ever find someone like that again. I think Tasha and I were fun, but chemistry doesn't keep it going if there's not the rest of it. It's about more than just sex...."

"Yes."

Beverly ran her fingers through her hair, sweeping it back over her ear, and leaned on the back of the sofa, drinking tea and being thoughtful. "You've told me before that you used to think it was Will -- that you felt you had lost your chance when he wasn't willing to get together, at the beginning of the mission. I guess I should learn from that. Quit thinking so pessimistically."

"It's impossible to predict what might happen. I try so hard not to worry about the future. He doesn't, you know?"

"He told me once that he came to terms with his own death before. That it had to be that way, to remove anxiety from the confrontations and the dire situations the ship gets into," Beverly said. 

"It might lessen the anxiety but it won't remove it -- the human body doesn't work that way." Deanna sighed into her glass. She could sense the tension from the bridge -- they were in the middle of a confrontation with Klingons, but they weren't in battle and from what she could tell that didn't seem likely. Tasha was focused but hard and resolute in the way she usually was -- not all jangled nerves and energy as she would be if battle were imminent. 

Jean-Luc was focused as well. His attention would be on the situation at hand, but in a less intense way -- he wasn't a warrior, and he had Will and the others in discussion. There was a subtle interplay of emotions present in briefings and it felt similar to Deanna at the moment. He was also aware of her, and thought about her -- they were almost telepathic, now, exchanging emotions and almost able to exchange thoughts. Then she let go, not wanting to be a distraction, and he was refocusing.

And Beverly was watching her with a calculating expression. "You were just thinking about him. That's the same expression, you know."

"It's more that we think with each other, actually."

"Aaah, I see." Beverly grinned. "That explains a lot."

"What do you mean?"

"I noticed you don't talk to each other as much any more. It's like he just makes an assumption and you go along with it. So in just a few months, you've progressed to this. Interesting."

"I'm going to take a shower and change. We're still on duty, we can talk later," Deanna said. 

"Yes -- I should get back to sickbay. Thanks for the tea. Maybe you'll talk him into dinner with us? It's Wes' birthday in three days, maybe you can help me with ideas for a party," Beverly said, leaning to put down her glass before she stood up.

"If the situation at hand resolves we can do that. It's still tense. Not red alert but not over."

Beverly grimaced and headed out the door. "I hope it ends without bloodshed."

Deanna took a short sonic shower, put on the gray and lavender pantsuit, and was putting up her hair in a bun when she felt it -- the tension about the mission was over with an abrupt snap, and a few moments later, she felt the shift, turned to look up and find that the view of the stars was changing to one of warp-blurred stars. Sighing in relief, she left her quarters.

Worf was waiting for her outside her office door. She smiled at him, though internally she flinched; she was accustomed to clients who struggled with emotions. Worf usually waged war on his, and being in the room with him trying to help him sort them out could leave her feeling like collateral damage. She invited him in, thinking an apology at Jean-Luc before cutting him off as she usually did when handling a difficult client. 

Worf uneasily sat on the edge of the couch and scowled intensely at the floor. "I am a Klingon," he announced, as if she needed reminding. 

"How can I help you?" Deanna asked.

He glanced at her and resumed glaring, this time at the flowers in the vase on her table. "I have often recognized the differences between Starfleet protocols and Klingon tradition. However, I have not experienced a conflict in my duties with my tradition until this mission."

This was what made it difficult, not being on the bridge often -- she didn't have the context, so asked him to explain further. Which led to an hour and a half of talking to a frustrated Klingon trying to reconcile conflicting states of being, essentially. He didn't attain that goal. She scheduled another appointment though she suspected he would cancel it, as he had before. Once Worf was gone, she realized it was the end of the shift. Beyond it, actually, by about half an hour. She reclined on her couch and closed her eyes, thinking it would only be for a few minutes.

"Deanna?"

She opened her eyes to find Jean-Luc standing over her, and sat up swiftly. "Oh," she said quietly. "What time is it?"

"It's nearly nineteen hundred."

She stood up and reached for him, and he happily took her into his arms. "It's good to see you," she murmured. Re-establishing the empathic connection with him led to relief, and he kissed her cheek.

"Hungry?"

"Yes. My last client was intense, I was only taking a moment and I must have fallen asleep. The mission is over?"

"Yes, indeed. We've received orders to investigate the disappearance of the _Drake_  so we are en route. It will take some time to get to the Lorenze cluster, however, so we'll have an opportunity to recover. Catch our breath."

"Have dinner," she added, as he backed a step, turned, and let her come around the end of the table. He tucked his arm around her as they left her office.

They made it as far as his door without interruption. But Will came from the other direction, met them there at the captain's quarters, and though he was smiling he wasn't quite as happy as he appeared. "Got a minute?"

"Of course." Jean-Luc didn't stop, instead guiding her in the door without faltering and seeing her to her usual spot on his long sofa. Will trailed in after them to sit stiffly in the chair. "Something to drink, Will?"

"No, thanks." Will watched Deanna but continued to speak to the captain. "I wanted to see how you felt about scheduling a few days of leave for the ship after the next mission."

"Is there some occasion I'm not aware of, Number One?" Jean-Luc brought a wine glass to Deanna, and sat next to her. 

There was something, Deanna thought, but Will shook his head. "It's just been a few stressful missions and I think there are crew who are feeling the stress."

"Yourself included?" Jean-Luc smiled at Deanna, as she sipped the white wine. "Do you concur?"

"I think he's right. You could use some leave as well, I think. Medical leave does not count. You have not had a day of leave since you came aboard the _Enterprise_ , in fact. Taking an evening out at that starbase does not count either," she added before he could bring it up.

"We could go to Toriban Four," Will put in. "There's a resort there -- you skydive from the back of a large flying reptile."

"I think a beach and a deck chair would be adequate," Deanna said, grinning. 

Will sighed loudly. Feigning exasperation and teasing her. It was almost as it had been before -- they were almost back to easy friendship. "Are you ninety, now?"

"Not at all. I can think of a lot of things that could be done in a deck chair," she said with a salacious smile. "With the right person, of course."

"I'm sure there must be something for everyone -- I'll talk to Command at the conclusion of our next mission and we'll see," Jean-Luc said. He put an arm over her shoulders. "Deck chair, hm?"

"We could determine what kind of chair, you know."

"I'll just get going -- supposed to meet someone for dinner," Will said. He jumped up and beat a retreat without a backward glance.

"He doesn't like spending time with us, does he?"

Deanna sipped Chardonnay and smiled. "Not when I think about you sitting naked in a deck chair. He doesn't like the way I look at you while I do that."

That prompted him to escape the couch as well, but he only went so far as the replicator, where he asked for dinner and recovered from the image himself. 

"It could be a very private deck chair," she said as she went to the table to join him. "A very comfortable one, that you could lounge in. I could kiss you while we lounge."

"You're sure you don't want to try the skydiving?"

She knew he was kidding, so instead of responding she picked up a fork and started to eat the salad he set in front of her. 

It was as many of their dinners together had been, mostly quiet and calm, quite enjoyable; he didn't like a lot of chatter. She appreciated it after having to play devil's advocate with Worf and his simmering anger at his life and the way events beyond his control had shaped it. They recycled the dishes together. It was clear that Jean-Luc had something on his mind, so she wasn't surprised when he turned to her and caught her hands instead of going back to the couch to pick up the book on the end table. 

"Do you think we need to change anything?" 

She frowned, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"I suppose...." Words were difficult for him. She guessed that it wasn't someone else, or duty related, based on that.

"You don't seem unhappy about anything. I've been very happy with everything so far, so I'm not sure why you are concerned."

"I've noticed that -- or at least, I think I -- Beverly and Tasha aren't together any more, are they?"

Deanna's smile turned sad. "It was intense but not very long. And they're still friends, though I think they won't spend a lot of time together for a while. Not every relationship turns into something serious. I spent a little time with Beverly today, and she's fully aware of that fact."

"Do you think -- " He lost the sentence, hovering there gripping her fingers tightly and trying not to be so anxious. "I don't want to miss anything. I know you share your feelings with me most of the time now, but I hope.... You will tell me, if there's anything?"

Deanna pulled him closer, leaning in to kiss him, and for the first time actually extended her mind, not just her feelings. It wasn't always possible but there had obviously been enough openness that she felt the potential for such a connection. As he felt it happen he froze for a few seconds, and their thoughts commingled, and then he was kissing her passionately. She was somewhat aware of being walked backward, and then the edge of something pressed against her buttocks -- the desk, she realized, as they broke apart briefly, both of them panting and clutching each other's clothes. 

"Computer, privacy mode," he exclaimed, regaining his wits enough to start pulling at the fasteners down the side seam of her pantsuit. 

She thought about how it wasn't unusual for the initial mind-to-mind contact between lovers to go to sexual passion this way -- it was intensely intimate after all. She thought about it and other things, how much she loved him, how she hoped he wouldn't tire of her, and in return she had all his shock at her imagining that could happen. The immediacy of the connection let this negotiation happen in seconds, hardly interrupting his momentum. He managed to get her clothes off and kick them aside, while he unhooked the bra and ran his hands over her breasts as the garment came free. He kissed her again, pushing her against the desk again, until she was sitting on the edge of it while he ran his palms along her thighs, cupping her buttocks. He let her get so far as pushing his pants and shorts down but as she brought her fingers up to begin pulling his shirt off, he held her in place and shoved himself inside her.

It was truly different, having sex while connected mind to mind. An empathic connection was intense enough on its own, but this was a consuming interplay of two strong, passionate minds reaching an intensity she had never experienced before, and it went out of her control almost at once. She was aware peripherally of what they were doing while being in ecstasy, having repeated orgasms and clinging to him until she actually lost consciousness for a moment -- when she came back to herself, she was being carried and smiled as he put her down on the bed.

"No doubt," she murmured. He was naked, and almost as out of breath as she. He didn't bother going to the other side of the bed, simply climbed on in and settled on top of her as if he belonged there. 

"Was it -- " He sounded hoarse, and it surprised him into silence for a few seconds. "Was that telepathy? Was it something else?"

"That was me, in your mind," Deanna said. Then she tried words, rather than thoughts and feelings. [This is telepathy.]

"Oh," he groaned, almost reeling from the contact. "Deanna...."

"It's very intense, isn't it?" She held him in her arms, where he had collapsed half on top of her with their legs intertwined. "Being together that way."

"I'm not sure I'll survive that deck chair, now," he muttered.

She chuckled at him and let her fingertips play with his hair. "I'll be sure that you do."

A flicker of questioning came and went, but he did not speak, merely relaxed there with her and promptly fell asleep. Without a thought she followed suit. 

And when she awoke they were still there, in the same position together. He hadn't been able to fall asleep while spooning or with her leaning on him; he'd only been comfortable with a hand on her leg, or her waist. And when he awakened and took the first trip to the bathroom, he returned and slid back between the covers to spoon with her. 

"Does it take a lot of effort to do?"

"It does. Almost everything I have. And that was so much stronger, I think I might be much more capable than I was before -- it's not something I do often and it's been a long, long time, but I don't remember being consumed in it that way."

"All I wanted to know was whether you were happy, with -- us. I didn't expect...."

She smiled and extended herself, not so assertively as before, and felt the resonance between them. "Very happy."

"So you'll stay," he said, almost inaudibly. 

Deanna rolled over slowly in place and faced him, her head on the same pillow as they were quite close. "Was there any question of that?"

"I'm hoping not."

"Four days of leave would be nice. Don't you think?" She touched his head, tracing along the back of his ear, along his jaw. "Plenty of time to catch up on sleep and spend time with me in your mind?"

"Mm, I think I like all of you," he murmured as she traced along his brow. "Though I'm definitely liking your mind more than before."

"I think you should bring the poetry, when we go on leave. I'd like to hear some of it again."

"I can do that."

"Are you really concerned about us, or was there something I did or said that causes you concern?"

He spent a moment hugging her close and feeling a bit embarrassed. "I'm probably thinking about how little experience I have with real relationships and how little I've seen you for the past few days -- I missed you."

She hadn't spent the night with him for a couple of days, as he had been on the bridge late and she hadn't been certain he would come back to his quarters at all. "Should I simply move in, then?"

That set off a new tangle of anxiety and joy, that didn't quickly resolve itself. He eventually settled himself down and slipped an arm around her waist. "We should talk about that," he managed.

"Later. It's not time to get up just yet." She kissed him, and he was more than happy to continue doing that until the alarm went off.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I named a ship after an astronomer. This is a practice already followed in Star Trek. We don't hear about many astronomers in the media, but there are lists - thank you Wikipedia.
> 
> More or less following along with episodes. Arsenal of Freedom is next, followed by Symbiosis, followed by Skin of Evil, We'll Always Have Paris, Conspiracy, The Neutral Zone, and then season two begins with the surreal episode The Child. In order -- the one where a world, plus at least one starship, are killed by advertising; the one where Tasha dies; the one where Jean-Luc's first real love comes aboard along with her ailing husband; the one where we find out what Admiral Quinn was concerned about a few chapters ago, aka the episode where Riker almost eats meal worms - ick; and then -- strangely -- the episode that had to do with finding twentieth century earthlings and not really much to do with the Neutral Zone other than that's where they find them. And of course The Child is where Troi has her magical offspring that is essentially a clone of herself, only male and growing up in a couple of days after being painlessly born. Details of which will be changed in the course of this story, as well. 
> 
> I mention this here because I am switching things up a little, again. The order of canon events (macro) will for this story be: Arsenal of Freedom, We'll Always Have Paris, Conspiracy, The Neutral Zone, Skin of Evil, and The Child. Followed by Where Silence Has Lease. And then the story will either depart canon entirely or end, have not decided which, because I follow my usual which is to take the outline and then flesh it out with the details as they develop with the characters. The canon events (macro) will serve the purposes of this story but in a different order. I am dropping Symbiosis out entirely.
> 
> Back to our alternate universe, nearly parallel but not quite as much in the details of things.

Jean-Luc left his quarters for the bridge feeling a little disoriented and distracted. In the corridor he ran into Will, not an unusual thing in the morning as the first officer often departed his quarters at the same time. "Good morning, sir," he exclaimed happily.

"Good morning, Number One."

Will frowned at him, and they came to a halt as that didn't go away. "Are you all right?"

"I believe so, why?"

Will pointed at his neck. "You appear to be a lieutenant today."

Jean-Luc's hand came up -- two of the pips were missing. "Oh...." He tried to remember putting them on. It was such a habit now, after all this time, that he usually did it without thinking. Being interrupted by a kiss had likely been the cause for his demotion.

The door opened behind them, and Deanna emerged in his bathrobe. "I found these with mine," she said, holding up an open hand with pips in her palm. He held out his hand and she dropped them in. "Good morning, Will."

"Good morning," he said with a grin and a very pointed stare at the floor at her feet.

"See you on the bridge." Deanna hurried back into his quarters without another look. Her hair wasn't brushed, but he knew she had been just a few minutes behind him, in the shower.

"She's reading your mind," Will commented softly.

Jean-Luc gave him a look. But rather than backing down, Will gave it back -- his eyes issued a mild rebuke, an "I told you so" look that went away as he smiled. They turned and walked together to the lift, as they often did, and Jean-Luc kept his eyes on the flickering light tracking their progress.

"Why did you cancel the wedding?" The question left his mouth before he really thought about it much, and for some reason he didn't feel too much guilt that it had. Perhaps the annoyance at Will presuming he had some idea what was going on with them canceled out his usual dislike for intrusiveness.

Will huffed quietly at that. "I guess she's talking about that? Didn't she tell you?"

"You know I understand that there are biases - I have them as well. I don't ask her to interpret what I can obtain by asking directly." Jean-Luc put his remaining two pips in their places on his collar.

"Not like you to ask at all." Will didn't sound upset at all. Nor was he crossing his arms or scowling.

"As has already been noted, I'm not exactly following my usual template. And I have to admit curiosity -- why someone would cancel a wedding, instead of rescheduling, then regret it years later."

Will laughed at it -- it became obvious he'd never heard the man really laugh. His head tipped back and then he ran his hands over his face, rubbing his eyes. "Yeah, that's the riddle of the ages. No wonder you asked, nothing like a good mystery."

The door opened, and they went down the bridge. The usual handoff ensued -- it was the beginning of alpha shift, and the day of travel to the next mission was under way. The Lorenze cluster was four days, twelve hours travel at warp five, so Jean-Luc ordered an increase to warp five point five, cutting most of a day off the journey. "That much closer to that few days of leave, Number One."

Data's head turned at that, and LaForge glanced back at them as he relieved Ensign Taylor. "Leave?"

"We're thinking Toriban Four," Will said.

LaForge actually half-turned at that. "That would be great! I think my mom's vessel will be in the area. I haven't seen her in a long time."

"Sounds like it suits everyone," Will commented with a smile. "What do you think, Worf?"

"I will remain on duty," Worf growled from tactical over their heads, with minimal intensity. "I do not require leave at this time."

"Almost everyone," Jean-Luc said. He decided that the thought he'd had as he left the lift should become reality, and stood up. "I'm going to the ready room -- Worf, open a channel to the _Burbidge._ Put it through to my desk."

"Aye, sir."

He passed the fish tank and sat down at his desk as the monitor came to life. The man smiling out at him from it had short silver hair and laughing green eyes. "Well, Jean-Luc, it's been about an epoch," he exclaimed.

"Not quite that long, I think. How are you, Greg?"

"Can't complain. We're on a survey out here in the Arvis cluster, cataloging those stars and nebulae and planets so you can come along behind and make the treaties and colonies happen. I'd invite you over for lunch but I suspect we'd be waiting a while."

"Correct as always -- we're on our way to find a missing vessel ourselves. Good to hear the work still suits you."

Greg Norman sat back and gave him an even look. "Hmm. Does it still suit you?"

"You know I took a few years, after the _Stargazer_." He'd visited Greg and his family, in fact, for a few days here and there, because he could then.

"If I were a betting man I'd have guessed you wouldn't have gone back into service. I was surprised to hear you accepted the flagship -- though that's an honor it would be difficult to turn down, you were pretty tired." Greg picked up an origami crane that was sitting on his desk and fiddled with it idly.

"I see Rebby is still making you birds."

Greg's happy smile returned, and he held up the blue paper crane. "Rebby and Reno are involved in making ship models, these days. This is an artifact -- I keep at least one of them here with their picture. I'll be taking time with them at the end of the year, about a month and a half in fact. We're having a boy this time. We'd welcome you if you want to come."

"It might be difficult. But I can ask if she wants to do that. She might, she's from Betazed herself."

Greg lurched back in the chair as if he'd been pushed. He set aside the crane, leaned forward on his elbows, and peered into the monitor. "What did you say?"

Jean-Luc shrugged -- now that he'd dropped it out there it was proving difficult, in the face of his friend's disbelief, to speak further.

"Okay, now I'm going to have to have sciences do some checking -- are we in a parallel universe suddenly and no one bothered to tell me? Are you really Jean-Luc Picard?"

"I knew you would say that. But no, this is me, and I'm where I should be. It's a little difficult to explain." He saw Greg reach over and key in a few commands. "Her name is Deanna -- "

"Troi," Greg finished for him, grinning. He'd obviously checked the crew roster, and she was the only Betazoid on board, so it was an easy guess. "Oh good god, you've hooked yourself up with the daughter of the -- have you met her _mother_? Senna tells me stories about her! Lwaxana is famous on Betazed, not to mention one of the top government administrators and probably the best party planner in the quadrant. Not exactly the kind of family I could see you in, with all your bookish and seclusive tendencies."

"She's nothing like her mother," Jean-Luc said calmly. "Rather embarrassed by her, actually."

Greg was now grinning like he'd never heard such good news. "Well, good for you, Johnny. She's prettier than Senna -- don't even tell her I said that. Even if she wouldn't care -- she'd probably agree with me."

Now it was Jean-Luc's turn to do a double take. "She would?"

"Oh, you are new, aren't you?" Greg sat back, laughing and slapping the surface of his desk in amusement. "Oh, my god. You are green in the ways of Betazoids and in for a ride, my friend, nothing you've ever experienced will prepare you for this!"

"You're trying to set me up for something, aren't you? One of your famous elaborate jokes."

"Hey, no, Jean-Luc -- I wouldn't do that to you," he exclaimed, gesturing with his hands to fend off the accusation and bobbing back and forth in his chair. "This isn't a joke. You're happy with her, aren't you?"

"Yes...."

"Okay, and there's also the fact that anyone who's known you for ten seconds understands that you don't let anything get in the way of duty. And so the fact that this is a senior officer and you're in this high profile position on the flagship, and still you're doing this with her, and telling me about it -- that says that you have plenty of confidence in this, and why the hell would I screw around with a sweet setup like this? I have your best interests in mind, here, Johnny. So listen to me for a minute seriously, all right?"

"All right," Jean-Luc said, leaning back himself, tentative.

Greg grinned again, more himself than before. "Jean-Luc, there are a lot of things books don't tell you about people. Like right now, you can tell I'm not playing you, am I right?"

"Either that or you're a better actor than you were before."

Greg drummed his fingers on the desk and studied him. "Don't mistake the smile for anything but me being happy for you, now. I'm not playing. I'm telling you something you need to know -- she's half Betazoid, young, she might not even understand everything herself. Senna didn't quite, for a while. She's going to be honest with you to a fault, almost wreck the relationship with it, because humans are never as honest as a Betazoid on a bad day."

"Are you implying that I'm -- Greg," he exclaimed, scowling.

"You are honest. I know, you wouldn't be anything else -- I know you. But the thing is, I also know you lie to yourself, or ignore things that Betazoids don't. Because I did that too. I'm saving you some time and arguing, here, trust me."

Jean-Luc sighed. "I'm trying to. But I'm not getting the sense that this is going to apply to me."

"You will." Greg's mirth subsided somewhat. Perhaps because he thought it would help him be taken seriously, but even so, it did. "The thing that took me too long to really comprehend about Senna was that Betazoids learned a long time ago that they can't tell us everything they read from us. We don't like that they read us in an instant, so they learned to not let it show that they can. We prefer our illusion that everything we think and feel can be kept under wraps, behind our facade. And then if you start to get close to a Betazoid, it gets more intense -- they can't focus on us without starting to be a part of us, it's like their neural network becomes a part of ours, only remote. Sort of like the padds and communicators are wireless extensions of the ship's computer. They do that to each other all the time. Once you're around them more often you start to realize they include you, whether they intend to or not, in their wireless networking. You don't get privacy. You don't get to think about things before you tell them some edited version of it that you think won't piss them off, instead of the raw versions you worked through and discarded."

Jean-Luc stared at his friend's face -- there wasn't anything there that suggested this was one of his put-ons. But he'd put one over on him before. "That doesn't sound like something a counselor would keep to herself." And then he remembered, like a punch to the gut, what Deanna had said before about her view on death -- why her mother still missed her father as much as she did. Greg was starting to make sense. Which started some new anxiety.

"What is it you're thinking she doesn't know about you? I can bet she knows that already. How much you want to wager on it?"

"I'd say all the things I haven't been thinking about since I met her. Memories. But I've told her quite a lot of it already."

"So you think about the last conversation you had with her, and how much of it you had verbally. Is she filling in the blanks now? Has she always done that? And then you're probably having a great time just sitting around not talking to each other. Because you don't have to talk. There's a funny thing that happens in a Betazoid home, when there's no other species around -- it's dead silent, not a word spoken. You watch a few Betazoids working together and you see them moving as if they're one person. Not something you see in Starfleet, because we don't tend to see them in groups. Senna does that sometimes with me, or maybe a whole day goes by where she doesn't say anything but we have entire exchanges of memory -- she has to respect my privacy where the classified stuff is concerned, but she does. I had to tell Starfleet and she had to be sworn in and given a clearance rating all her own even though she's not Starfleet, just a chef working on contracts with the best restaurants on Betazed. Because she can't help it sometimes."

Jean-Luc stared at him -- Greg was lost in thought for a minute, his eyes distant. He smiled anew.

"And then she actually connects with intention mind to mind, and it's like the universe unfolds in front of me. There's no delay with a Betazoid -- the thought is yours, and hers, simultaneously. And before you know it there's a mind-blowing orgasm whether you're having sex or not. There's nothing about this in books, Jean-Luc. I can almost see that in your face, you know. Thinking this is going to be something you can solve like one of your mystery novels. You haven't gone as far as you're going to go, with her, otherwise you wouldn't be doubtful. She's going to be letting you in slowly because that's what a smart person does, when it comes to this stuff. Especially Betazoids. They have to let you in gradually. They can't really afford mistakes."

"It almost sounds as though you're telling me that Betazoids misrepresent themselves," he said. "Computer, Earl Grey, hot."

"Like you misrepresent yourself, by keeping your personal life to yourself all the time and being very selective in who you talk to about it? Nothing they keep to themselves affects their ability to be officers, they communicate with us fine. They're naturals, take to other languages like they were born speaking it. Does it change anything to know she can read you?"

Jean-Luc went to the replicator and returned with his tea before he answered. "Since I've known that from the minute we met, no. She explained her abilities to me."

"And you think you understand, but she explained in Standard and now you have more insight than that. Welcome to the learning curve. It'll get clearer as you go. Look...." Greg gave an apologetic smile. "Okay. So there was this blonde on Risa, some years ago. It was a dumb thing to do -- but I was drunk, and it was a really gorgeous blonde, I hadn't seen Senna face to face in something like five or six months, and I felt like a complete bastard in the morning. I called Senna the instant I beamed aboard -- she was upset. But you know what she was upset about? Not the blonde. She felt that I should have told her that I was finding the long separations difficult, so she could help me with that. Thought that exposing myself to some std for no good reason was pointless. I guess she made a bad assumption that humans are only wanting sex when they're with that special person, because once they're bonded with someone Betazoids only want sex with that person -- they don't feel attraction based on looks like we do. They like you for your mind. They'll appreciate the physically beautiful people but when it comes to sex, they have focus. I think the only way to explain her reaction to my absence for a while is that she can literally turn off her sex drive or something -- we're still connected mind to mind, even if I'm somewhere out on the fringes of the Alpha Quadrant. And Betazoids have sex with their brains, over distance. Senna can reach me if she doesn't need to mind the kids and totally goes into a trance -- think about that, not even a Vulcan can do that. Vulcans sense their bondmates, they can tell if he or she is in trouble or dies. But they have to go home to have sex right on time. Your girlfriend, she could be in the cargo bay and give you a happy fun time while you're sitting there on the bridge. Or on an away mission. I'm going to lock everyone out of my quarters in a couple days at a particular hour, call her, and you can bet I'm not missing my wife as much as I would if she were human. It's the only reason we're still together, I think. Subspace sex is what keeps me sane. Damn it, Johnny, you look at me like I'm telling you stories -- I'm not making this up."

"No, it's not that." Jean-Luc thought about what Deanna had said about the dreams -- it was sinking in, finally, what she had said, and it was surprising. She'd told him she was embarrassed. That had to be because she'd had no control over it. Not because it had happened at all.

Then something else clicked.

"Why wouldn't she be upset about the blonde?"

Greg smirked at that. "Because the blonde wasn't competition and she can tell. Sex is just sex, until you have it with someone you're bonded with. Then it's a manifestation of your love. That's the real crime -- excluding your soulmate from love, not having sex with someone else. Because the physical bits rubbing together is the lesser part of the relationship -- they view it as we view holding hands, not a serious violation, just affection. When you say soulmate to a Betazoid you're not telling them the universe created the two of you for each other, or that you're two halves of the same soul -- it's got nothing to do with destiny or fate, or romance. They don't think in those terms. You're telling a Betazoid woman that you chose her, you deliberately singled her out of a whole planet loaded with Betazoids who are all capable of deeply connecting with anyone, to touch your soul, which is something they protect and won't touch without permission. A Betazoid doesn't just run around jumping into the minds of others because they can. Betazoids touch minds, surface to surface, exchange words, and that's polite. Friends get to go a little deeper. If you pick a Betazoid mate and you dive in the deep end, whether it's ignorant or not, and then break up with them, it's going to break more than their heart if you leave. It tears you out of their existence. It hurts them like you don't want to hurt anyone. Jean-Luc?"

Jean-Luc set down the cup, and smiled ruefully. Some of the shock had shown in his face, possibly some of the anger. His thoughts had immediately gone to Will Riker, and Deanna's assertion that she had not told Will everything. It struck him too that Deanna might not completely understand it all herself as Greg had suggested -- something told him her mother was unlikely to have completely explained the reality of losing a husband, though apparently she had told Deanna something about it.

"You're warning me, I think."

"That's why you called. I'm betting you've reached a point where something's not settling right, but you don't want to ask her directly."

 Jean-Luc thought about that, at first feeling like arguing -- but it was actually odd that he had thought about calling Greg that morning, where he had not thought about contacting him since a subspace chat when Greg had called to congratulate him about the _Enterprise_. "It wasn't a conscious idea that I had to do it but you may be right."

"You have great intuition, always have. It's telling you things -- you'll have better intuition than before, you can bet on that. Take it to the bank -- this Betazoid thing, it can be a little contagious, and you've got an empath, I bet she's a terrifically strong one, you weren't talking about her last time we spoke. Not even a year and you're sitting on the precipice trying to figure it all out. It took me a few years with Senna. You need to educate your hunches. Use it. It'll make you a better captain, too."

"So that's your secret, is it? Meet a Betazoid before you graduate? I was right about your level of intelligence, then," Jean-Luc said with a smirk.

"Aw, well, that's an easy guess, you knew me before, and you know me better now," Greg said, sliding a framed picture into view. "And you've met Senna. Though you never spend a lot of time talking to her -- we know she intimidates the hell out of you, but she's that polite and Betazoid, and I'm not going to be rude about it either. Other things, all bets are off, but this is something you don't use frivolously or talk around loosely."

"I appreciate that." The picture of the dark-haired, dark-eyed enigma his friend had married smiled up from the silver frame, the two little girls in her arms nearly carbon copies of her. Senna hadn't spoken to him directly often in the time he'd spent with them. He almost regretted not making more of an effort to talk to her. But Greg was right -- Senna, when she did speak, came across as intelligent, intense and incredibly grounded and aware. It was eerie, actually, how the Betazoids -- all three of them, he could count them on one hand -- he had spent more than a few minutes with were all like that. Deanna had been a warm, open and welcoming presence -- and then also, when occasion warranted, he had seen her being assertive and firm. Thinking about the way she had reacted to her mother's sudden arrival with the Millers and the marriage she didn't want, he realized how unique she truly was.

And now he started to see why Lwaxana might want to present herself as she did. Being fun and superficial might lead to easier relations with other species, and she was obviously interfacing with non-Betazoids on a regular basis, from what he remembered her mentioning. He'd tuned out a lot of what she had said while she was aboard -- that too was almost a regret.

"Are you going to tell me about her?" Greg asked, bringing him back from the brief wandering in thought.

Jean-Luc thought about it, and about calling her in to simply meet him -- she was on the bridge, after all. And then in a moment of clarity he realized that he had known that without consciously checking. And then she was responding to him as if he'd actually called. The door opened and she came in, wearing the royal blue dress and her hair tied up in a beaded band, just as much Counselor Troi as ever. She stopped in front of his desk and they gazed at each other, and it was a moment of realization for both of them. She hadn't been quite aware before of how connected they were now, and perhaps that should be discussed as well.

Later. It would be more polite to make the introduction. She'd meet Greg at some point. Because obviously this was what his gut had been telling him, all the while fighting with his head that insisted things were moving faster than he would expect a counselor to want, and that he was missing something that might explain that, and of course now that was all moot. There was something between them that was not an ordinary, human relationship. And he did not care, he realized, that it might be substantial -- he hadn't learned anything that would lead him to want to leave her. Quite the opposite.

So he reached up and turned the monitor, so there was a view of both sides of the desk, and gestured. "This is Captain Greg Norman," he told her. "We were just talking about you."

Pulling a chair around, angling it toward the monitor, she sat down and smiled -- it wasn't Counselor Troi's formal smile, but a version of the very happy smile she often had with friends. "Hello, Captain."

"You can call me Greg," he said. "Since you probably already know what he told me, I won't bother trying to reassure you that it was only good things. Even if it's true."

Deanna raised her eyebrows in surprise. It was the first time he'd seen her that surprised. Jean-Luc watched her actually try to think of what to say. "You've spent time on Betazed," she said at last.

Greg brought the picture back into view and tapped on the top of the frame. "Let me guess, you're from El'nara. Senna is from Marilas. Your accent is almost the same."

"Oh, what beautiful children," she exclaimed, peering at the picture. The happy smile was back.

"Rebby and Reno are a little older than that now. We're expecting Rebby will be an empath in a few years." Greg gestured at Jean-Luc. "Old man's telling me he might be able to talk you into coming to Betazed to spend some time with us, some time -- I have a month planned at home, since Senna's having our son soon. Maybe you can convince him to take the time off?"

"Maybe," she said, shooting him a speculative look. "You must be good friends?"

"I met Johnny at the Academy. He saved me from this incredibly good-looking woman who was trying to kill me."

Jean-Luc guffawed in surprise. "You deserved what you were getting, don't lie about it because you can get away with it. I simply asked her not to include me in the beating." The woman had been swinging her handbag at Greg and it caught him on the backswing, on top of the head, over the division between their booth and his.

"And then she took a liking to him and went to sit in his booth, and he ditched her. It was the beginning of a long and beautiful relationship -- taking turns being each other's wing man, through the bars and restaurants of San Francisco." Greg flung his hands up as if throwing it all away. "And then I met Senna and vanished for weeks on end."

"He resurfaced in time for graduation. I'm not sure how he graduated, actually," Jean-Luc put in.

"Senna has a great mind for math and physics, that's what," Greg said, waving his finger. "Just the things I was struggling with. Got the final grades I needed and we were off. Too bad we were never stationed together, but he keeps in touch, most of the time, and we had some face-to-ass time after that thing happened."

"Captain Asshole," Jean-Luc said. "You can say court-martial, I don't faint when you refer to it."

"Oh, show him a Raltharian pole dancer and he faints," Greg exclaimed with a wave of a hand. "Six breasts and wow, can they dance."

"I can tell when you lie about him from his reaction, you know," Deanna said.

Greg laughed at it. And then the chime went off -- his, not theirs. "Yeah, let's talk after alpha shift some time when that's less likely to happen, all right? Nice to meet you, at'la. See you later, Johnny." The monitor went dark.

"At'la?"

Deanna straightened the chair and assumed her usual straight posture with her hands in her lap. "It means sister-in-law. He's making some interesting assumptions."

"He's assuming what I would expect him to, given the situation. He knows me well enough to understand that I don't have intimate relationships with crew."

Her eyes darted around and landed somewhere on the front of his desk, and she took a deep breath. "Will informed me just now that you were asking about why he called off the wedding. He's upset about it."

"I know. I shouldn't have asked. Shouldn't have succumbed to that impulse -- but he commented that you were reading my thoughts, when you came out with the pips."

Her eyes glittered angrily. "I found too many pips on the dresser and sensed you were out there with him. He's being ridiculous. I can't maintain that kind of connection for very long."

"I have questions, if this is a good time to talk."

She looked down again, and shrugged. "Do you really want to talk about personal issues on duty?"

"If we go to the holodeck in these off times while the ship is traveling at warp, surely I can have a conversation in my ready room with a friend. And I have, and I will again. And I have difficulty talking, when you're standing in my quarters."

"What do you want to talk about?" She gazed at him -- there was a glimmer of a feeling, between them. He was becoming more aware when she connected intentionally that way.

Of course, he was back where he started, staring at her without a clue of what to say. After a few moments, she started to smile. It led to a sheepish one of his own, and then he started to chuckle. Then they were laughing while he leaned back and put a hand to his forehead, his eyes rolling.

"You start," he said, trying not to keep laughing.

"I'm not entirely sure what it is we're supposed to be discussing, though. I know you had to be talking very seriously with your friend. Were you perhaps consulting with him on something?"

"I didn't ask him -- I told him about you. And then he gave me a summary of what to expect from a relationship with a Betazoid because he's been married to Senna for decades now, which led me to wondering what's next. If perhaps we might be already bonded, and if -- " She was watching him with wide eyes, he noticed, and it gave him pause. When she didn't say anything, he continued. "If we are, I wonder what that will mean."

"What would you like it to mean?"

"I have no idea what to expect. It doesn't make me want to end this, regardless." Jean-Luc smiled as he thought about what Greg had said, about enjoying the time they spent not saying a word. "I'm fine with the way things are."

But something was making her sad. She looked down again, and he wondered if she might be remembering things about Will.

"Are you all right?" he asked softly.

"I was just taking a moment -- you said bonded, and I didn't want to even think about that yet, but I think you're correct and I've managed to -- I'm sorry, Jean-Luc."

"You shouldn't be. I'm not complaining."

She regarded him soberly, concern puckering her brow. "I never wanted to do anything to make you feel as though I were trying to manipulate you in any way."

"It's very difficult to imagine that you're doing anything of the kind. I know that if I wanted to go, you wouldn't stand in my way -- you made it clear from the beginning that was the case. And I don't like that you are blaming yourself for something that seems to be there whether either of us noticed it or not. How is it that we apparently shared dreams if it hadn't been there in some form from the beginning?" And then it all came together -- all the disparate pieces of everything he had been told and observed. "You're trying very hard not to repeat a mistake you made, when you were younger. I think you should abandon that attempt and embrace reality."

Deanna smiled, again, but this one was like daybreak -- slowly increasing as she attuned herself to him and relaxed, and stopped worrying at a non-existent problem.

"I'm not a mistake," he said.

"No. And you're always right. And irresistible, too."

"Absolutely. Because -- "

" -- you are the captain," she finished for him, rising from the chair. He thought she might leave, but after a pause she came around the desk and stood at his side, looking down at him. "Or maybe you're just the right person, at last. And I'm afraid that I'm -- "

Jean-Luc came up from the chair and kissed her cheek. "We are in the business of solving problems. So what do I need to do to resolve the fear?"

"Oh," she gasped, leaning into him, "talking is good."

"Then we'll talk tonight, over dinner."

That put happy lights in her eyes again. "Yes."

He refrained from touching her, but looked her in the eye with a smirk. "Thank you, Counselor."

She turned slowly and strode for the door. Jean-Luc watched her leave the ready room, then dropped into his chair, which complained a bit about the unusual assault. And of course, he was cursed with the same door chime as any starship captain.

Will strolled in, lifted a leg, and dropped straight down into the chair that Deanna had abandoned. "Everything all right?"

"Absolutely. We're on course?"

"At warp five point five. We could go play some velocity, or visit ancient Rome like you were talking about the other day."

"I was just having some tea -- would you care for some? I have an appointment in about half an hour with Mr. Crusher, so perhaps we could go to the holodeck after lunch?"

"Sure. If we're going to do that this afternoon I should head down to engineering -- I have a couple of performance reviews to conduct today."

Jean-Luc raised his tea toward his first officer. "Carry on, Number One."

 

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For context for some of what is said in this chapter, one might find the season seven episode Dark Page illuminating.

The mission to Minos had not gone well. Deanna hurried into sickbay and over to the biobed where Beverly lay, surrounded by her staff. Alyssa Ogawa glanced at her -- worry prickled but the nurse smiled reassuringly.

"Can I speak to her?"

Alyssa nodded. "She's fine. She's stable, and awake. Just don't stay long." The nurse put a hand on Deanna's arm before sidling away to the other side of sickbay. Dr. Selar needed no request from anyone to do the same, and the other nurse went as well.

Deanna looked down at Beverly -- her friend was tired, and feeling no pain. Beverly smiled up at her. "I guess this one didn't go so well for you," Deanna said.

Beverly guffawed at that. "Oh -- but I always fall into pits with the captain," she exclaimed. "How is he?"

Jean-Luc was there now all the time in the back of her mind so it took no effort to check. "Relieved that everyone came back safely. We have such a good crew, you know? Everyone performed well in spite of the anxiety and the fact that we were overpowered."

"You can thank those of us who get dirty -- Jean-Luc found the control panel in the pit that led to the ultimate solution," Beverly said. It struck Deanna that the doctor rarely called him out by name. But she was in sickbay, and very tired. Obviously not at her best and not on duty. She was pale and the sickbay gown did no one any favors. Beverly felt so weak, but she smiled up at her and said, "Remind me to check on first aid certs -- I think he's a little out of date. Maybe you can help him with that anxiety."

"You mean feeling useless trying to help you doctor yourself? I'll get right on that," Deanna said with a grin. "I did try to tell him not to go down there. Geordi would have done fine on the away team, I think."

"Stubborn old captains," Beverly muttered. "Can't talk sense into them."

"I should let you rest. You'll feel better after you sleep."

Beverly smiled wearily. "And you usually tell me these beds are impossible to sleep on, but you know, you're right. This is like sleeping on the floor."

"Maybe we should put our heads together and engineer a more comfortable one," Deanna exclaimed.

"As much time as some spend in them, that might be a good idea." Beverly had a thought that made her sad, almost to the point of tears. Deanna responded by putting a hand on Beverly's shoulder and waiting for her to say something. Finally she collected herself and smiled again. "Tasha hasn't been in."

"Tasha is doing the post-mission dance, making logs and debriefing. I think she's with the captain now." Deanna almost said that she thought Beverly was wrong. She almost talked about Tasha's incredible composure that covered the mess of fear the woman compartmentalized so well. She almost told her friend, as she'd almost told Tasha, that she thought they were more in love than not -- but refrained because these things needed to work themselves out without her interference, for them to work at all.

The door opened behind her, and Deanna turned -- and there was Tasha, with all the fear in her face at last. Deanna smiled happily at her, patted Beverly on the shoulder, and left them there. She went down the corridor and as she entered the lift she felt that minute vibration in the deckplates under her shoes that said they were at warp, again. That meant the saucer section had been recovered and they would be on their way to their planned leave -- which meant they had time to breathe again. She reviewed the situation in her head as she rode up to the bridge, going through the people on the away team - identifying the ones most likely to need more than a debriefing. Data, as always, would not. Tasha she would encourage to go talk to Alia Michetti and then Tasha would refuse, and since there was no effect on her duty when she continued to refuse after each mission, Deanna would log that she encouraged her to go and she opted out. Will would be the same.

Geordi was coming into the lift as she left it; she hesitated in the door. "How are you?"

"Can I see you tomorrow, Counselor?" She could tell he had a lot to talk about. Once the mission was over he'd been elated -- and then the thinking started. Young officers followed patterns typical of their species.

"Of course. Nine hundred thirty works for me."

Geordi smiled, gave her a nod, and continued in while she went out. Jean-Luc and Will were standing where they usually were, arms crossed. Jean-Luc raised his head and gave her a subdued smile acknowledging her presence; Will noticed and glanced her sans smile. She came to a stop in front of them. "Captain. Commander."

"I already made an appointment," Jean-Luc said, holding up both hands in surrender.

"So did I," Will said. It was almost true. Deanna sighed, and glared. "I did -- I told Guinan I'd come down for a drink later."

"From what was said earlier, you were encased in an energy field." She had been aware of him -- he'd been frightened. She knew that he'd struggled against his captivity and failed. She waited for him to recognize that she knew that, knowing full well he knew about the mechanics of trauma and potential outcomes. He knew he should at least be assessed to determine whether trauma symptoms were present. Nothing she hadn't told him before in discussing the needs of crew.

"I'll be fine, Deanna," he said with a warm smile. "I'm fine."

She crossed her arms. "We'll talk about it in the morning. I intend to notice whether or not you have a nightmare tonight and remind you of the symptoms of trauma, since apparently denial is still a favored practice with the officers who obtain three or more pips. We'll chat," she said with a false smile, patted his arm and spun to leave the bridge. It took effort to not glance back, to ignore the smugness from Jean-Luc and the annoyance from Will.  She glanced at T'Su as she arrived at Tactical -- she had moved from ops to one of the secondary stations. Worf was at attention and glaring at the readouts in front of him, resolutely ignoring her.

"Do you have anything in the afternoon? I have this project I'm supposed to meet with my team about in the morning."

She smiled. T'Su was an active client, working on her insecurities in the line of duty that had started recently. "Would you be able to make it at thirteen hundred?"

"Sure. Thanks, Counselor." She gave her the faint smile of someone who didn't care for counseling and turned back to the console in front of her.

 Deanna headed to deck three next, and Lieutenant Alia Michetti, the other psychologist on board, was waiting there at her door.  Alia was tall, almost as tall as Will, and had long black hair that she usually braided and coiled on the back of her head.

"Good afternoon -- did I forget a meeting?" Deanna asked.

Alia smiled, her thin lips barely tilting up. Her sense of dread didn't bode well. "I was hoping you might have a moment."

"Come in, have a cup of tea with me." Deanna waved her in as she entered the office, asked her replicator for orange pekoe lightly sweetened and a green chai for herself, and they sat together on her long crescent-shaped couch. "What can I do for you?"

Alia spent a moment collecting her thoughts. "I'm feeling a little odd about working with the captain."

"It's a difficult position, being a counselor aboard a starship working as a counselor with someone who technically outranks you, or seeing people you might view as friends."

"Not exactly what my concern is. He doesn't want to talk to me. I don't even mean that he's not wanting counseling, I think he doesn't like me."

"Did you tell him that?"

Alia tipped her head away from Deanna. "Should I do that?"

"You should try. I think he doesn't like his own story."

"Now, that would be another problem. He was coming about the insomnia. He stopped having the problem. I offered to help him with anything he felt needed working on, and he agreed. So we started on a list of traumatic incidents -- I'm feeling a little overwhelmed, and he lists them as if he's telling me all the books he read last month. I ask for details about one of them and he's being quite collected and calm as he describes it to me. I know career officers have an amazing ability to compartmentalize and repress... but I'd expect there to be some affect. He seems fine."

Deanna nodded and drank some of her tea. "Has he told you why he switched to seeing you?"

"He said he couldn't talk to you."

"I wasn't successful with him, because he wouldn't talk to me about anything but the insomnia. He was attracted to me and I knew it, and I finally put it in front of him -- I told him that he had to make a choice about the kind of relationship he wanted with me. He went in a direction I didn't expect."

Alia stared at her with wide hazel eyes. "You had to choose it as well."

"I had to, that would be correct," she said. "I had my own unsolvable conflict."

"I know we've been functioning as a team, rather than supervisor and subordinate...."

"I realize, Alia. I know what I'm asking you to do."

"It's bad enough that I'm trying to work with Captain Picard."

Deanna sighed, as quietly as she could, and pursed her lips as she considered what to say. "Starfleet knows that we're already compromised -- you are, for example, the only choice of counselor for Dr. Crusher who is my immediate supervisor and thus your supervisor. Because she's my friend as well. We do the best we can."

Alia shook her head. "So you're saying that this is the way it's going to be. I'll just do my best, then. Since you obviously know him well, do you think he needs counseling?"

"I know that he would benefit from it. Let me talk to him again. We haven't talked about it lately -- he told me he was going to see you, so I've left it alone completely."

Alia's smile returned, with more amusement than usual. "He's impressive. You have a lot in common?"

"More than is immediately apparent." Deanna thought about the gentle ongoing hum in the back of her head and it was as if that activated the connection. Jean-Luc was still on the bridge and not very busy. He was smiling now, she could almost picture it from the way he felt about being connected to her this way.

"I'll talk to him tomorrow," Alia said. She rose and carried her cup to the replicator, dropping it in the recycle slot. "I have to wonder why he didn't tell me himself, that you were together."

"I don't wonder. As you observed before, career officers often shut down emotionally, repress, suppress or disassociate their feelings -- he doesn't like to talk about feelings, especially with people he doesn't know well. He's especially not inclined to discuss _those_ feelings with another woman."

"Are we meeting tomorrow as scheduled?"

"Yes, of course. We have other clients to discuss. See you then."

Alia left the office, heading down four doors to her own office. Deanna spent a few minutes finishing her tea and thinking about the problems of being a therapist in a very small community.

Which must have been some sort of cue, as shortly after she replicated another cup of hot tea and settled at her desk to review her schedule, yet another of the challenges of being a Starfleet counselor arrived. When she let Tasha in, her friend hardly looked at her, she was so jumpy. Without questioning it Deanna got another cup of tea -- Tasha liked Assam, a very strong brew -- and sat on the couch with her. Tasha put her tea on the table and wrung her hands for a minute.

"She's going to be all right, Tasha," Deanna said quietly. Then she had to set aside the cup she held and catch her friend in her arms. It was alarming, in the suddenness of it, and in her shock she didn't think about the ramifications -- just held Tasha tightly while she wailed and cried, in a way the security chief had never done before. She rubbed her back and swayed slightly, as the worst of it subsided.

The door opened, and she was glad the doors were quiet -- Tasha still sobbed and hiccuped and didn't notice. So Jean-Luc standing there for a moment and then moving away again didn't disrupt her crying spell. Deanna sighed, and blocked him out so he wouldn't continue to be a recipient of what she felt, reacting to Tasha's distress. The initial surge of alarm and concern must have startled him.

"It's going to be all right," Deanna said as the door closed. "Tasha, it's all right -- she's going to be fine."

It took a little longer to get her to sit up, and then Deanna replicated a moist, warm cloth to let Tasha wash her face -- fair-skinned folk were usually a blotchy mess after a good cry like that. "What am I going to do?" Tasha asked, tearful and plaintive.

"About what?" 

"I'm no good at relationships," Tasha exclaimed, still half-wailing about it. "I'm -- "

She was terrified, actually. "Tasha. Let's take a moment and slow this down. You remember what I taught you before?"

Getting her to breathe took a little time. At long last, she had Tasha mostly calm. "Okay," she said with a wavering smile. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her cheeks still a bit pink, but it was an improvement that she was looking at Deanna and trying. 

"I hope so. Want to talk about it?"

"I just -- we broke up," she said. The tears started, but not the wailing. She took a moment to inhale, exhale, and stay calm. "We were having some difficulties -- I couldn't stop feeling like I was doing something wrong."

And then they were in a counseling session, before Deanna knew it -- she found herself responding to Tasha as she did any client in distress. The time flew by, and after an hour and a half she called a halt. 

"It's past dinner time," Deanna said. "You should go eat. And go sit with Beverly for a while. She may even have been released by now, she wasn't as critically injured as I was."

"You're probably right. I don't know how to thank you, Deanna." Tasha fidgeted and thought about it for a minute. "I guess I should make an appointment? Oh, please don't make me go see the other one," she added. Deanna's reluctance must have shown in her face. "I don't think I could talk to her again! She's not like you -- I just don't think I could. I don't know her at all."

"You go see Beverly, and if you still feel like making an appointment do that in the morning. All right?"

"Okay," Tasha said with a relieved sigh. Leaping up, she hurried out. 

Deanna sat for a few minutes feeling drained. And then she opened her mind again, and Jean-Luc flooded in with relief -- he'd actually been worried. Before she thought about it she was on her feet and moving.

Will was in the turbolift with Worf when she went into it. She never felt small until she was in a lift with one of them -- the close quarters only made the size difference more obvious than usual. She stood in front of them, hyper-aware of their closeness. Worf was dressed in gray sweats and clearly on his way to a workout.

"Counselor," Worf greeted in his rumbling, gruff way. 

"Are you all right, Deanna?" Will asked, affecting the detached tone of the first officer rather than the warm tone he had used before in times there was no Klingon warrior standing there with them.

"Just tired. It's been a long day. A lot of things going on."

"Oh, you can say that again," Will acknowledged.

Worf cocked his head and brooded darkly for a few seconds. "I do not understand why repeating the obvious would be necessary."

Deanna was able to not laugh; Will tried, but a single snort escaped him. "It isn't. Just making conversation, Worf."

"Humans mirror each other's feelings, and repeating the obvious to each other is a way of processing emotionally stressful or disturbing occurrences," Deanna said. "It's mostly a nonverbal exchange, however, the words are -- "

"God," Will said under his breath.

Deanna glanced to her left and up at Worf, exchanging a look. The Klingon had a ghost of a smile, and she could sense the amusement; one of the things that he had initially confessed to her, in the few sessions she had had with him, was the ongoing sense of alienation he felt. Going through the Academy had been a lonely experience, even though he got along well enough with most of his classmates, because he had been the only Klingon. The Rozhenkos had treated him as family and he had had friends in school, but being at the Academy had been a different story. Some of the instructors remembered battling the Klingon fleet, when they were space-borne starship captains. 

"I have observed the same," Worf said, with far less force than usual. The conversational tone startled Will, who was used to the forthright and gruff officer side of him. 

"I hope you're reaching a level of comfort. I admit that living and working among a mostly-human crew can be a difficult adjustment." Deanna felt the lift stop and started forward a second before the door opened. "Have a good evening, Mr. Worf."

"And you as well, Counselor."

Will followed her and she ignored his reaction to her moving past her own quarters. "Worf is much more relaxed than he used to be -- I've started sparring with him on the holodeck. I think it's helped him feel more at ease with me."

"That's good to hear. Have a good evening." She turned and went into the captain's quarters without pause, leaving Will in the corridor. 

Jean-Luc closed a book as she entered, tossing it aside, and watched her come to him on the couch. She dropped down next to him and immediately put her head on his shoulder, and he was ready with open arms.

"Sorry," he said.

"Tasha startled me -- I would have secured the door if I had known she would do that. I've never seen her that upset."

He was concerned, curious, but knew better than to ask. And Deanna didn't want to explain the insecurities that had driven Tasha to break up, or the complicated emotions she struggled with -- for people like Tasha intimate relationships could feel like mine fields.

"I think what happened on Minos may have put them back together again. Unless Beverly is unable to tolerate Tasha's anxiety."

"I stopped in to see Beverly -- I knew there was more to what was going on with her than just the injuries, she was calmer on the planet's surface while she was bleeding and half-buried."

Deanna closed her eyes and focused on him for a moment. It led to some state of detached-from-reality togetherness that defied her to describe, which took some time to come back from -- the hunger she had felt due to not having lunch or dinner intervened finally, bringing her back to her physical body. She felt grounded and comforted, and merely tired instead of exhausted. Sitting back from him, she smiled and took his hand.

"Dinner," he said. "I had salad but it wasn't enough."

"Tell me more about your friend, Captain Norman," she said, not wanting to talk about anything from the day's activities.

 "He has a house, on Lake El'nara," Jean-Luc said as he followed her to the replicator.

She paused carrying her plate to the table, to stare at him. "He does?"

"On the south shore. I was there two years ago. He has a fantastic view of the lake, the deck overlooks this small island with a pyramid-shaped rock on it. While he's there he swims out to the island every morning -- when holodecks were rolled out, he had Senna send him pictures so he could re-create it and do it aboard the ship."

Deanna placed her plate in front of a chair and sat down. When Jean-Luc brought a wine glass for each of them and handed her one, she glanced up at him with a bemused frown.

"What is it?"

"Does this house have a large garden, a lower subterranean floor where the bedrooms are, and a beautiful stained glass ceiling in the dining area?"

It was Jean-Luc's turn to wrinkle his brow. "You've been there?"

Deanna knew he could tell how deeply shocked she was by this. "I'll be right back." She hurried to her quarters, and brought back a small box she kept in the top corner of the closet. Placing it on the table next to her plate, she sat down and flipped the lid open, and the item she sought was right there on top of the stack of pictures, framed and not. She put the framed shot of herself at four years old, her father and her mother in front of him. Jean-Luc stared at it, and then at her.

"You've been there," he said.

"I was born there. Mother sold the house after Daddy died."

Jean-Luc picked up the picture and scrutinized it again. "This was _your_ house?"

"For almost seven years. We moved to a different continent. Mother's still in the house in Janara. I can see how it happened -- houses in that area never go up for sale, they tend to be handed down in families. Your friend must have jumped at the chance when he could."

"Senna did. Her family is apparently wealthy -- they own a house down the hill from it."

Now Deanna dropped her fork and covered her mouth with her hands briefly. "Senna Debral, you mean?"

"You know Senna?"

Deanna laughed, and propped her head on her hand, closing her eyes. "She was my mother's favorite babysitter for me, whenever she needed one. She spent a lot of time at our house. Of course I didn't recognize her, I was eight years old the last time I saw her. Mother cut us off from nearly everyone we used to know, when we lived at El'nara. We're actually second cousins, once removed."

"No wonder Greg knew so much about your mother!" Jean-Luc picked up his fork again and started eating the mess of pasta and meat on his plate. It wasn't a dish she was familiar with.

"Did she take Greg's name?"

"No, I don't believe she did. At least not on Betazed. You should call her," Jean-Luc said. "What fantastic luck."

Then it occurred to Deanna what her mother would likely say about this. It was what had kept her from seeing a certain circle of people before now. "I don't know if I should or not."

He blinked -- he'd known she was becoming sad, had begun to worry about that, but this startled him.

"I should talk to Mother first."

"All right," he said, uncertain but not wanting to be intrusive.

Deanna ate more salad, considering -- there was so much he didn't know. She should educate him. "There are things that Mother becomes overwrought about. I haven't talked to her about some things for years, because the attempt to do so sends her into anguish. I want to tell her before I speak to Senna."

He smiled tentatively at that. "Your father was a Starfleet officer."

"He was the science officer on the _Carthage_ when he died. It took me a while to understand he was gone forever." She had some salad left, but had eaten enough to no longer feel so hungry, and was starting to lose her appetite. "I was so angry when Mother packed away all his things. I wouldn't let her put the cowboy stories in a box. I kept telling her not to because when he got home he was going to read them all to me."

"Cowboy stories?"

She thought he might be deliberately distracting her from continuing to talk about his death. That was fine, she decided. "Daddy loved the Old American West the way you enjoy Dixon Hill. He tried to convince me to enjoy his favorites -- Zane Grey, Louis L'Amour, Larry McMurtry -- but I was completely entranced by a series about Cowboy Ralph."

Jean-Luc snorted at that. "You were a child, so that makes perfect sense to me. Do you enjoy reading them now?"

"I've read some of them. I can't do it often. It makes me sad. I've been thinking about trying a western on the holodeck, but I haven't been brave enough."

"What else did you do with him?" Jean-Luc finished his meal and drank more wine.

It led to Deanna shoving away her plate and taking several sips of wine while she sorted through memories to find one she could talk about without crying. "We swam -- he would dare me to race him to the island. We called it Treasure Island. I liked to think we would find something buried on it, if we could reach it. We never made it all the way out."

"It sounds like you have wonderful memories there."

Deanna couldn't keep looking at him; she fidgeted and looked down at her lap. "I do."

"But you're only becoming sadder, thinking about it."

She blinked away a few tears. "One day when I was six, we were on the beach down the hill from the house, getting ready to swim, and Mother found us there. She was so angry at him -- I've never understood why but she kept screaming and shouting. I was terrified, but she grabbed me by the arm and dragged me up to the house. When Daddy came up he sent me to my room and they kept arguing. I flung myself at the door and started screaming at some point, and I think my terror finally got through to Mother and broke her out of the rage. It wasn't like her to be that way. They made up, and it never happened again. But we never went swimming again, and he never told me why. I think that fight contributed to the depths of her grief when we were told seven months later that he was dead. She felt terrible about it."

He nodded, thinking about it and remembering some of his own past, no doubt. But he picked up his plate and empty glass. "Would you like anything else?"

"My eyes are very tired, and sleep sounds so good to me."

"Then we shall sleep. And perhaps we can spend part of the journey to Toriban deciding where we will spend our leave."

Deanna smiled up at him as he picked up her dishes on the way to the replicator, and then he returned to take her hand and lead her into the bedroom. She changed into a short gown and brushed her hair, braided it, and crawled in bed with him. She slept without dreaming until morning.


	19. Chapter 19

Deanna tended to be a little more relaxed in the mornings than he was, Jean-Luc had noticed. That she was actually having difficulty waking up was unusual. He dropped the uniform on the end of the bed and went to shake her shoulder gently. When she blinked up at him, he touched her head. "You're pushing your luck, you have about twenty minutes to the start of shift."

"What?" She sounded a little disoriented.

He sat on the edge of the bed. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Hm," she murmured, shoving herself into a sitting position. "Mostly all right. Just a little groggy for some reason."

"You should get it checked."

Without makeup she looked different, but he was becoming accustomed to that. She seemed to be waking up more, smiling at him. Reaching to touch his arm. "Feeling better already. Did you sleep well?"

"I did. You can stay here any time you want." He smiled and leaned to kiss her on the temple.

"You said something about my moving in the other day. Did you mean it?"

He knew she sensed his emotional reaction. "I did. I need the counselor's opinion on whether that's a good idea or not."

She shrugged -- the movement gapped the low front of the blue silk gown she wore, giving him a view. "I think that the crew won't react poorly to it. They haven't so far, it's likely they expect it. We don't need to move much. I don't have a lot of things."

"I wouldn't have expected to feel so connected so quickly," he said. "Is it always this way with Betazoids?"

She smiled at him, making him feel lighter. "I'm not sure how it is with anyone else. I only have one other similar experience with this. But this was less impetuous. It feels better to me, less rushed and more open. And I think I've grown, in my telepathic abilities, since then. I'm really starting to feel at home with you. Which sounds ridiculous if I think about the fact that it's been just five months since I met you, but I don't think I've ever slept as soundly as I did last night. And I think it's because you were here."

"So all those suggestions you gave me for the insomnia weren't working for you either?"

She giggled at him. "I usually meditate myself to sleep. And I always tended to wake up if there were strong emotions in my vicinity. Someone being very angry or having sex could influence my dreams, or kick me out of them. Until I came aboard and you started to influence them more than anyone else."

"I actually had a dream last night. You and I floating in a warm space, on the ocean I think. Have you ever been sailing?"

"No. Mother always panicked if I go near the water. And until starships had holodecks I haven't had the opportunity -- maybe we should go today, after my last appointment. It felt nice, last night, I think I remember feeling that way."

He leaned and kissed her on the lips, and stood. "We'll plan to do that, then. I haven't been in a long time."

"I might not see you today until then." She usually had busier schedules when there wasn't a mission -- crew had more time for things like routine therapy when the ship wasn't on alert or there weren't surveys to conduct.

"All the more reason to look forward to the holodeck. Hurry up, it's getting later." He left the bedroom at a quick clip himself -- exiting his quarters he almost ran into Data, corrected course to walk alongside him on the way to the lift. "Good morning."

"Good morning, sir." Data let him enter the lift first, and stood at attention as he set it into motion.

"Are you taking leave as well, when we get to Toriban?"

"I am, sir. I will be joining a small group of junior officers to go camping."

"Camping?" Jean-Luc had vague memories of an attempt to do something like that when he was at the Academy, with a few friends. "That should be interesting."

"Lieutenant Vargas said that she will teach me to roast marshmallows," Data said. "I am not certain why she believes I would enjoy that. But it will be interesting to find out."

"I imagine so," Jean-Luc said with a smile.

"Are you and the counselor going to take leave on Toriban?"

"I believe we will, yes. Though I'm certain camping is not on our list of options. We have a few other things we're thinking about."

"Geordi asked me if I wanted to go with him to Maki Park which is apparently a wilderness area where one can hike or use a small flying apparatus to explore the countryside. I seriously considered that as well. There are a number of interesting geologic features in the park, as well as a small archaeological project that is ongoing near the visitor center."

"You don't say. I might look into that. Archaeology is a hobby of mine."

The door opened, and Riker turned from a discussion with Tasha at tactical to walk with Jean-Luc down the bridge. "We have another day to completely repair the damage from the battle at Minos," he said.

"Excellent. And how is our medical officer?"

"I haven't heard yet today, but she was discharged from sickbay last night. I saw her in the corridor when I was on my way to Ten Forward to meet with Randi."

Randi? There was one, a lovely lieutenant from sciences -- an astrophysicist, if he was not mistaken. "Good, good. I'll have to check in with Dr. Crusher later."

They sat down almost simultaneously. Riker mulled over something for a moment, then glanced at Jean-Luc again. "I'm thinking about staying at a resort for a couple of days -- there's one near this park, where there are hiking trails and hot springs." He was speaking very quietly -- only Data at ops was likely to hear them.

"I haven't had a chance to look at what's available, but I was hoping there might be something that would have sailing or swimming."

"Not horseback riding?" Will smirked. "I doubt you'd get her to go sailing. She always seemed to be water-phobic."

"We haven't had the chance to talk about it, honestly." Jean-Luc tried not to smile at how he was learning more about that history between them from Will, without bothering to ask. "What are you going to tell her when she asks about whether or not you had a nightmare?"

"Since I didn't have one, the truth. Actually the truth either way. She can tell, after all." He shrugged. "I never liked that about Betazoids, they don't let you be nice to them. She always argued with me when I told her she was beautiful."

"Why would she do that?" It startled him and made him wonder, and the questioned popped out before he could stop himself.

"No idea."

Jean-Luc watched the main viewer, as usual set to a forward view -- he glanced at the backs of the officers' heads and then considered what he had left to do, mainly reviewing logs and reports. "I'll be in my ready room, Number One."

"Aye, sir."

Happily, there were only four messages, all of a non-urgent, non-orders nature, in his inbox. One of them was from Senna, of all people. He opened it, curiosity piqued.

_Jean-Luc,_

_Greg told me that you have begun the journey with my cousin, Deanna. I am so happy for you! You need to come see us soon. I haven't spoken to her in accordance with Lwaxana's wishes, but surely Deanna will be old enough and independent enough to make that decision to see me, if she is with you. Greg considers you family, after all._

_It surprises me to no end that you would consider joining with a Betazoid. But I know that you are on your own journey, and that this must be a sign of growth for you. That brings me joy on its own. Growth is always worth celebrating._

_Senna_

That was enough to put a knot in his eyebrows. Lwaxana had banned Senna from speaking to Deanna? She'd mentioned being cut off from part of the family, now that he thought about it, and perhaps this was part of what she meant. He sat back in his chair, and in his consternation forgot all about the fact that Deanna would know what he felt but not why. Until he recognized she was feeling concern, pushing it through to him and questioning without words.

He responded with a smile, trying to project calm and reassuring. Thought about her smile and how beautiful she was. She was pleased and the concern subsided. A few minutes later, she was at the door -- came in wearing a teal pantsuit he'd never seen before. "I'm sorry, but you've made me curious now as to what you are thinking about."

"I was looking at correspondence. Greg told Senna about you and she wants to see you."

Suddenly he was looking at a concerned frown, instead of the happy smile she'd had just seconds before. She sat down and sighed heavily.

"I don't want her to suffer Mother's wrath."

"It's odd, isn't it, that it would make her angry?"

"That my mother doesn't want us to have contact with them? I've asked before and she refuses to talk about it. She's very stubborn."

"I wonder if it has something to do with her aversion to water."

Deanna tilted her head. "I've always assumed it had to do with Mother selling the house. Something that went wrong about the sale, maybe. Or Daddy's death."

"Did you have something you were coming to talk to me about?"

"Actually, I also wanted to check with Will, about whether he talked to Dr. Michetti. Also to let you know that my afternoon appointment canceled and I will be able to do whatever I like at three hundred hours."

"So we'll be sailing before dinner."

She nodded, back to smiling happily, and stood to go. "If there's nothing else."

It was unusual for him to really look at someone, while he was on duty. He took a moment to look at her face, to think about what Senna had said, and smiled at the thought of calling it a journey instead of a relationship.

"What is it?" Deanna asked.

"Nothing. I was just thinking about how beautiful you are."

Her smile went lopsided -- but didn't disappear. "How beautiful am I?"

"I believe the standard measure for beauty is in beats of the heart -- I expect that exceeds warp five, by now."

She looked at the floor, but the smile dwindled. He would have been concerned but for the emotional response; she was projecting an echo of the feelings he felt for her, and almost moved toward him -- she feinted, taking a step, but turned on a heel and headed for the door.

"I'll reserve holodeck four," he said. It got him a heated look from her before she left the ready room.

They would have to find a simulation of a large boat, with bedrooms in the lower decks, he thought, smiling as he turned to the monitor again. "Computer, show me the options for resorts on Toriban."

He flicked through pictures and descriptions of resorts then went back to reviewing logs and trudged along through it with the sense of Deanna trickling in from the back of his mind -- he pictured it as a thread between them. A re-check of his inbox -- two more messages, one of them from Admiral Amos and likely about the Romulans since Amos was in Tactical Operations, were in it -- and then he stared at the header for the message from Senna. The message from the admiral wasn't marked urgent, or even important. He could take a little time to do something else first.

"Computer, open a channel to Senna Debral on Betazed."

"Channel established to Betazed. Contacting Senna Debral." The twitter of an established and open channel preceded a flicker on the monitor, and he was watching a woman with long straight black hair seat herself and look into the camera on her end. She smiled warmly and nodded. "Hello, Jean-Luc. I wasn't expecting such a quick response."

"I have time. We're just finishing up a mission and on our way to Toriban for some leave."

Senna raised her slender, sharply-pointed eyebrows at that. "That's close to Starbase 198, isn't it?"

"I'd have to check a star chart but I believe it's within half a day or so, at warp four, yes. Why?"

"I'm going to leave Rebby and Reno with their grandparents and take a transport to Starbase 198 tomorrow morning. From there I'm supposed to be picked up by the _Rutledge_ and be taken out to the Arvis cluster to rendezvous with Greg, so I can spend a few weeks with him before we head back to Betazed together."

Jean-Luc gave her a bemused smile. "Why would you do that? Isn't he supposed to spend at least a month with you on Betazed?"

"Betazoid babies start to bond with their parents during the last month of gestation. I want Russell to have a solid bond with his father."

"I thought Betazoids aren't telepathic until they're in their teens."

"They aren't -- but not every mind to mind link has to be telepathic. There's more to it than that, as you probably know already." Senna smiled again. "How is Deanna?"

"She's doing well, actually. She seems to like being an officer. I thought that since she is reluctant to call you, I would break the ice."

"Her mother doesn't know about you yet, I think. Betazed would know, if she did." Senna's knowing, amused smile was unsettling. "There's not much about Deanna that Betazed doesn't know. I completely understand why she left."

"Why is her mother so...."

"Indeed," Senna said, when he didn't finish. "She enjoyed her visit to your ship, by the way. There was an article about that debacle with Wyatt Miller. I told Ian that wouldn't end well, years ago, but it was a rare occasion that he won an argument with Lwaxana. Misguided, pretending that genetic bonding would even work with a human. It's an archaic practice to begin with -- who wouldn't want their child to have the happiness of a freely-chosen mate?"

"That was something I questioned. It was somewhat disturbing that Deanna went along with it. She's not compliant and submissive."

"I wouldn't expect her to be, considering her taste in men. And her heritage."

"You know -- I have an idea. Computer, calculate the time it would take for the _Enterprise_ to travel at warp seven from current coordinates to Starbase 198, then to the current location of the USS _Burbidge._ "

"At warp seven, it would take two days." The computer was as pleasant as always.

Jean-Luc waved a hand. "You see? I'd guess that the _Rutledge_ has the typical top speed of a frigate, warp seven -- normal cruising speed will be warp four or five, you'll take a week to get there. Why don't I pick you up and take you the rest of the way from the starbase?"

She was surprised again, and pleased. "You would do that for us?"

"The transport will take how long to get to the starbase?"

"I was told six days."

"So we'll be on Toriban in three days to take three days of leave for the crew. And so we can pick you up at the starbase that night of the sixth day, after all hands come back aboard, and take you to meet up with Greg."

"Don't you have a mission after leave?"

"Our general orders are to explore specific sectors, when we're not actively assigned to a mission. We get leeway with destinations if we're not on a critical mission. I think we could take a few days to help you. And it gives you a chance to reconnect with Deanna."

Senna laughed. "And if Lwaxana finds out about it, you were helping a friend, not doing something to infuriate her. You've always had a devious side," she said.

"I wasn't actually thinking like that, but it works. Why is everyone so afraid of Lwaxana being angry?"

Senna went sober in an instant, and her hands went to the large rounded bulge in the white blouse she wore as if protecting it. "What has Deanna told you?"

"Not much. When she came aboard Lwaxana was fine, other than making me carry her luggage and trying to force everyone to be naked at the wedding -- which never happened, as Wyatt found his soulmate on a vessel that happened to be in the area at the time. I have to wonder about the coincidence -- it's a big galaxy."

"Oh, Jean-Luc. It didn't just happen to be there. Do you think that it was happenstance that you fell in love with Deanna?"

"Are you suggesting that it was not?" That wasn't what Greg had suggested as a general Betazoid philosophy.

Senna turned enigmatic -- her satisfied smile as she leaned back and gazed at him said she thought she had the real story. "Why did Wyatt and his family go all the way to your ship for a wedding that would have required Deanna to return home anyway? Why not simply request her presence on Betazed? If something is supposed to happen, it does. The universe isn't going to allow the things that should happen to go astray."

"Now, wait a minute -- Don't we have a choice in the matter? How can something be fated to happen and still be a choice?"

"You could defy your fate -- choose something else. People frequently do. Is this her first time falling in love? Is it yours?"

"No, it isn't. But it's also not the same... it wasn't like this."

"So you feel that this is what you need to do. Be with her."

Jean-Luc had no answer for that. It didn't seem to be necessary to answer; he shrugged. "And I wouldn't presume to speak to whether her previous... engagement was her first time being in love."

"I can suppose that it was. I remember hearing about Lieutenant Riker -- remember, the Troi family are in the public eye, here. There were pictures of them in the news. The wedding was rumored to be the event of the century. When he never showed up at the wedding the entire planet was scandalized -- I suspect that if he showed up on Betazed he might find himself asked to leave."

"Oh," Jean-Luc said softly.

"You aren't aware of why the wedding was canceled, are you?"

"There are a great number of things I'm certain she hasn't yet told me. There are things that she doesn't know. Why her mother became so angry with her father when she found them swimming, for example."

Senna actually averted her eyes -- looked off to the right, with a faint expression of distaste. She looked at him again with a determined expression. "Is she able to come speak with me?"

"She might be." At the thought he'd alerted her, and she had not blocked him out -- he thought about wanting her to come back.

[You want me to come to the ready room?]

He affirmed that, tried to think the word. When he refocused on the screen Senna was grinning -- an unusual expression for her. "You are so connected to each other. Amazing."

"Is it so unusual?"

As usual, it didn't take long, since deck two was not far -- the door chime sounded, and he called out for Deanna to come in. She came through the door with a look of concern -- when he gestured for her to come around the desk and turned the monitor, she started to move around the end and halted as she got a look at the face of someone she hadn't seen since childhood. She froze in place.

Senna was looking out at her with a happy smile. "Hello, Durango."

Jean-Luc turned to look up at Deanna -- the unusual nickname had resulted in tears, an incredulous expression, and she came a few steps closer to stand with a hand on his shoulder. An unconscious gesture, he thought, perhaps seeking comfort or strength. He turned back to the monitor himself and Deanna's hand stayed where it was.

"Senna," she murmured. "It's so good to see you -- how are you?"

"Nine months pregnant. I suppose Jean-Luc thought you might want to know that you'll see me in about six days. I'm glad you found him."

Jean-Luc smiled -- Senna was just as impressive as ever, warm and saying the right thing at the right time. He glanced up at Deanna and found her looking down at him. "She makes it sound as though you were searching for me."

"Perhaps I was. I found you, after all."

"I'm looking forward to seeing you again -- how exciting, to be aboard the flagship of the fleet. Knowing people in high places pays off, I suppose." Senna tilted her head. "I hope your mother isn't there."

"No, she's on Shiralea, I think," Deanna said quietly. "Senna... do you know why my mother was always so afraid of water?"

"I do. She forced me to promise to never speak of it again." Senna rubbed her belly in circles slowly, and became that enigmatic woman he remembered well. "Do you want me to tell you? I think you deserve to know. I don't believe Lwaxana will ever voluntarily remember the incident."

"Did she forget it?" Deanna was almost leaning on him now.

"She's repressed it. She made everyone swear not to talk about it again. She had it removed from public records, though I'm sure the file still exists in medical and law enforcement records. Your older sister drowned, on a family picnic. Ian said Kestra was chasing the dog and fell in the water, struck her head on a rock, and drowned while she was unconscious. They heard the dog barking but thought it was just playing with her."

Deanna swayed; for a moment and Jean-Luc thought he might have to catch her. She was stunned speechless by this. "I had a sister?" she whispered at last.

"I was one of the first ones on the scene," Senna said. "I was visiting my parents and we all sensed Lwaxana's anguish, they were at the lake not far from our house. She was screaming. They had to sedate her."

Now she was really leaning on him. "Like they did when Daddy died."

"She's a surprising woman in so many respects. Being so determined and strong that she accomplished everything she set out to do, but ultimately unable to deal with terrible realities." Senna turned her head halfway to the left, not quite looking over her shoulder, as if she heard something. A second later a child's voice called out. "Rebby," Senna responded.

A younger version of Senna came into view, over her mother's shoulder. "It's Uncle Johnny," she cried. Waving, she sang out, "hi, Uncle Johnny!"

"Hi, Rebby," he replied calmly. Easy enough to deal with the girl via subspace. He remembered her being an energetic, quixotic eight year old who changed her mind often and her mood swung wherever it would.

"That's my cousin Deanna," Senna explained. "She works on Jean-Luc's starship."

"Hi Cousin," Rebby replied cheerfully. "I'm Rebindra Debral."

It occurred to Jean-Luc that he had expected the children to have their father's name. Deanna chuckled and patted his shoulder. "They're on Betazed," she said, addressing his surprise. "It's matrilineal -- the surnames will always be the mother's. It's nice to meet you, Rebby."

"She is your third cousin," Senna explained further. "Go find out what your sister is screaming about." There was indeed some wailing going on in the distance, and Rebby rolled her eyes and raced out of view.

"Thank you for telling me, Senna," Deanna said, serious again now that the girl was gone. "I had no idea. It makes so much sense now, her phobia about water -- I wish Daddy had lived, he might have told me himself when I was old enough to understand."

"I think so. It's why I am telling you now -- I don't think Ian would agree with the way Lwaxana is handling this. He would stand up to her where you were concerned. He taught you to swim precisely because of what happened to your sister -- she was six, she didn't know how to swim. Ian started teaching you when you were a toddler." Senna smiled, her eyes distant as she thought about memories. "When I had you at our house I would take you swimming myself, down in the cove at the bottom of our property. You were diving and bringing up shells from the bottom at four. You were like a fish."

"I missed you," Deanna said, starting to cry a little again. "I'm sorry that I haven't contacted you since I've been -- I could have, but -- "

Senna laughed softly. "No need to explain. Your mother would have lectured you for hours when she found out. I should go finish packing -- I'm having dinner with my parents tonight, and they're taking me to spacedock early tomorrow. And you need to tell your lovely man why words like 'fate' and 'choice' are not adequate to the situation. He doesn't seem to understand. I'll see you in six days, my dears." She smiled fondly and the monitor flicked over to the Starfleet logo.

"What does she mean by that?"

"Perhaps that conversation is best left to later," Deanna said. "Now I need to go meditate for a bit, to be calm for my next appointment. I can't believe -- " Her hands went to her face.

"It's difficult to see how anyone would deliberately do such a thing, try to forget their child," he murmured, rising and putting an arm around her. The chair spun aside out of his way.

"I'll be all right. I'll talk to you later. I want to sit alone for a while." She held him for a moment, then pulled away, left the ready room slowly, and the silence after she was gone felt onerous.

Of course, he needn't have worried overmuch about silence. Within minutes someone else rang for admittance. Will came in and stepped over the back of a chair, dropping into it and resting his forearms on the leading edge of the desk. "We're done with repairs. Just heard from Logan in engineering that they finished up the last of them. Everything all right? Deanna didn't look too happy."

"She's received some disturbing news. But also some good news -- her cousin will be coming aboard after Toriban, and we'll be taking her to drop her off on the _Burbidge_."

"Cousin?" Will frowned, confused and perhaps a little frustrated. "I didn't know she had any she was still in contact with."

"Actually, Senna is the wife of an old friend of mine, Captain Norman. It's a favor for him, dropping her off. That they are cousins is mere happenstance."

Will gazed at him with a stunned expression. "Greg Norman?"

"The same. We were at the Academy together. They have a house on Betazed."

"Wow. I'm guessing he must have kept his last name. That was another debate I had, with Lwaxana, she wanted me to be a Troi."

"I'm gathering her mother is stubborn and opinionated, anyone in her vicinity would assume that." Jean-Luc glanced at the replicator. "Want something to drink? Computer, Earl Grey, hot."

"I'm fine, thanks. Are you -- " Will cut himself off and went silent. When he came back from the replicator, Jean-Luc stood next to his chair for a moment and sipped tea to test -- same temperature as it always was. He sat down and placed the cup on the desk.

"Am I what?"

"Are the two of you becoming serious about this relationship?"

"I'm not sure how to answer that. I'm not sure that the relationship was ever casual, or that any relationship with her could be casual. There seems to be a trajectory one follows, with Betazoids."

It was as Jean-Luc had guessed, then -- Will scowled down at the floor and thought about that, as if it had been the last thing he would have believed. He'd wanted it to be temporary perhaps. Wanted to be there to pick up the pieces? At the thought Jean-Luc felt a twisting in his chest as if it were possible that he might lose her to this younger man who had broken her heart. He inhaled, calming himself, and Deanna responded to the feeling suddenly with a flood of affection and reassurance, doing away with the anxiety entirely.

He picked up the cup and sipped, as if nothing at all had transpired. "Miss Debral will be aboard for a few days, after we pick her up from the starbase. So she will need a suite."

"I think -- "

When he didn't continue, Jean-Luc glanced at him with questioning eyes.

"I'm concerned, actually. Because this isn't like her."

 Jean-Luc sighed, and stared across the table at the man. "Isn't like her?"

"Deanna said she intended to be a professional, focus on her career, and not become entangled in a relationship until she was ready to do that."

So perhaps he had heard that and interpreted it as encouragement -- that Deanna would eventually seek a relationship, and choose him. It made Jean-Luc even more curious about the aborted wedding. Everything so far that Greg and Senna had told him argued against Will's assumptions. It sounded like Deanna had give him an explanation that suited the typical human in Starfleet way of thinking.

"Perhaps she discovered she was ready after all," he said. "In fact, that sounds like something I've said, approximately a thousand times over the years."

"Until you met her."

Jean-Luc thought about Jenice, and the last time he had checked -- he knew her husband had vanished fifteen years ago, and supposed she must have gone with him. She had been a somewhat successful author prior to her disappearance and no one had heard from her since. That choice had haunted him until their disappearance, and he felt less and less of a tug of the heart now -- the resolution of that old regret seemed at hand, the more he embraced the relationship with Deanna the less he felt the pain.

"I know that there are things that I believed, fervently, with all my heart. But over time and many experiences while at large in the galaxy I have discovered that change happens -- sometimes sneaking up on you but it does happen, and that letting go of old routines and habits can be like waking up and unfolding the self into a shape that feels more comfortable, more myself than the previous version."

Will was giving him such a look of amusement that it curtailed further self disclosure. "You feel like a caterpillar turning into a butterfly?"

"No, I'd say it's more of a single-minded man turning into a decent human being who actually enjoys the company of others for a change. If you'll excuse me, Number One, I have a sick friend I need to visit." He stood, yanked the uniform straight, and left the mug on his desk for later.

Worf was at tactical, he noticed on the way up to the lift. He gave the Klingon a nod and entered the lift car as Riker asked for a status report from the helm while returning to his chair. Jean-Luc smiled and requested Beverly's location, and sent the lift winging its way to deck eight. He reached the door to her quarters and found himself waiting for admittance a little longer than expected. And when the door opened, he walked in to find Beverly sitting in state upon her couch, and Tasha nervously perched on the chair at a right angle to the couch.

"I just came to see how you're doing -- not wanting to interrupt," he exclaimed, starting to turn around.

"Jean-Luc," Beverly said. He hesitated and turned back to her. "Thank you. I appreciate your medical services and your calm, while we were on Minos."

"Medical services," he scoffed. "Sitting in the dirt trying not to panic."

"Well, there aren't many people I can think of that I would trust to sit in the dirt with me while I'm bleeding out."

Jean-Luc shook his head at that. He really didn't feel like talking about it. "Do you remember Greg Norman?"

Beverly was surprised and delighted at the name. "Yes, he's an old friend of yours isn't he? He met us in San Francisco that one time. Jack thought he was hilarious."

"We're picking up his wife on starbase 198 after leave."

"That will be wonderful," Beverly said with a grin. "I'm looking forward to it. He was so sweet about her -- obsessing about what to get her before he returned home. He asked me for advice. So once she's aboard, what is she going to do?"

"We're taking her to her husband on the _Burbidge_. She's nine months pregnant, by the way." As ship's doctor it might be important for her to know that.

Beverly and Tasha both gaped up at him for a few seconds. Beverly recovered first. "I have to say I'm a little surprised."

"Why?"

"Well, most women don't travel when birth is imminent."

Jean-Luc realized what she must be thinking. "Senna isn't human, Beverly. She's Betazoid. She's a month from the due date."

"Oh. Oh! Now why didn't I remember -- " She thought about it. "He didn't tell me that piece. He talked all about what she liked -- I thought she had eclectic tastes."

"We were about to have lunch," Tasha said. "Would you like to stay and eat with us?"

He stared at the young woman and then shook himself out of the surprise. "I wouldn't want to intrude...."

"As if eating a very healthy salad with friends is an intrusion," Beverly scoffed. 

And so he found himself seated at the table with his chief of security and chief medical officer, wondering why they were flirting with each other if they had broken up but saying nothing as he attempted to have something to say while they were talking about -- and it was one of life's mysteries how they ended up with that topic -- things that might be fun to try with a partner.

"I'd like to try skiing," Tasha said. "Wesley mentioned how much he enjoyed it -- fresh cold air, and the challenge of making it down without falling."

Beverly was amused by that. "Do you even know what it is?"

"Well, no, I haven't done any research."

"I tried it once in the Swiss Alps." Jean-Luc took a moment to drink his water. "Miserable experience."

"What did you break?" Beverly asked.

"I hit a tree -- left tibia, and dislocated my shoulder."

Tasha was agog. "What do you do, what is skiing?"

"In essence, you put two long slats on your feet and slide down a snow-covered hill -- or in my case you pick the hardest run because you're trying to impress your ridiculous friends who don't warn you about anything and fly down a steep mountain out of control trying to stay upright and avoid rocks and trees and other skiers as best you can, until you fall and slide on your back spinning out of control one hundred feet at a diagonal down the slope, knocking down competent skiers and smashing shoulder first into a pine tree. I had to be shuttled to a hospital in Bern."

"That sounds traumatic. Have you done it again, ever?" Beverly asked.

"No. I have had a lot of fun sailing, on the other hand." 

"I've been looking at things to do on Toriban -- since it's a human-Tagaran colony there's an interesting blend of activities common to Earth and to Tagar." Tasha took a bite of her sandwich and chewed, pausing as she did so. "There's a ski resort in one of the mountain ranges and they have a lot of snow right now, so that's what we were considering -- taking Wes with us we'd like to find something that he likes to do too. But now I'm second-guessing that -- maybe we should send Wes and his friends along with someone who has experience in skiing, instead of trying to go. I wouldn't want to end up being one of your patients when we're supposed to be having fun."

"We could ask Will," Beverly said, waving her soup spoon. "He's from Alaska. He's mentioned enjoying snow sports."

"I believe he already has plans. He said something about taking Randi to some park, and doing some reptile skydiving." Jean-Luc didn't think that was supposed to be a secret, but had second thoughts after saying it. 

Tasha snorted. "Only in Starfleet -- what the hell is reptile skydiving?"

"No idea. But it means he probably won't want to skiing if he has something planned with Randi -- that has to be Randi from sciences, and I think she'll want to do something less boring. Hurtling down a hill on snow is nothing to skydiving. I'll send out a message and see who we can find," Beverly said. She smiled at Tasha, then. Leaving Jean-Luc to wonder if he had been looking at Deanna that way, and trying not to squirm uncomfortably at that thought. "I'm sure Wes won't mind if he's doing something without us -- teenagers like a little freedom, and I know I won't mind having more time to do other things."

Tasha returned the sly look, and picked up the other half of her sandwich. "What are you going to do, sir?"

He took a moment to arrange the words coherently, as he was trying not to imagine the amenities at the resort he'd selected that were specifically featured to encourage sexual intercourse. "I'm not sure yet."

"Something fun," Beverly said, grinning, as clearly he wasn't keeping his face straight enough. Beverly nudged Tasha with her elbow. "Remember when we got Deanna completely drunk and she told us every sexual position she's ever tried?"

Tasha went red and wide-eyed at the doctor's audacity -- she stared at her captain in horror. Jean-Luc was happy to ignore Beverly's blatant attempt to embarrass the hell out of him. Then again, he suspected that actually telling the doctor something about it would probably embarrass her -- he set that thought aside quickly enough, though.

"How reassuring," he said instead. When Beverly looked askance at him, he continued. "I don't have to get her drunk to have revealing conversation with her."

That made them both laugh, as planned, and sidestepped more embarrassment, he hoped. 

"I think we should try that one resort, the Majestic?" Tasha said, moving on as he'd silently begged her to do. 

"Let's look at it after lunch," Beverly replied. 

Which ended -- as he dropped his dishes in the slot, he turned to give Beverly a subdued smile. "It's good to see you're feeling better."

"Thanks for stopping in. Guessing you're going back to the bridge?"

"For an hour or two. I have a date with a pretty girl later. I thought we would see if she enjoys sailing on the holodeck, before we go to rent a boat on Toriban."

"Well, have fun, then," Beverly said, giving him that look again. He scowled at it and headed out the door. 

Getting back to the bridge, where nothing was happening, and into the ready room was uneventful. He listened to the message from Admiral Amos -- it was indeed a bit of information related to Romulan activity along the Neutral Zone, but nothing more than a for-your-information message as they would be patrolling nearby -- and then went through a few more, one from Admiral Golden that he requested the computer turn into text as Gloria Golden's effusive, trilling tones set his teeth on edge when he heard her voice. One of the messages was from Greg -- Senna had already told him about the offer to bring her out to the _Burbidge_  and he was already happily planning a "big party" for the occasion, poker and beer, and wouldn't he consider inviting along his first officer to round out the table?

"Oh, good god," Jean-Luc muttered, leaning back and picturing it. Will would be pleasant, no doubt. But after his reaction to the non-answer given when he asked whether their relationship was serious.... Although, there might be entertainment potential in having Senna and Will in the same room.

He tabled the issue and went on to the next message. 

An hour and one call to an admiral later, Jean-Luc shut off the monitor. He had whiled away an hour and a half. Almost time to meet Deanna on the holodeck. He asked the computer and determined no one was in the one he'd reserved. That meant he could spend a little time checking out programs before she got there.

He strode out and looked at Will, sitting there in his seat. "I'll be on holodeck four for the afternoon, unless there is something requiring my attention, Number One."

Will responded with a curt nod. "I'll contact you if anything comes up. We're on course and on time, at the moment."

"Very good. You have the bridge." 

He saw a few people on the way to deck ten, and no one between the lift and the holodeck. Standing in the arch, he tried several sailboat programs in succession until he found one with a decent location. He was putting the finishing touches on it when the door opened and Deanna arrived. He turned to welcome her and saw at once, and felt it as well, that he had been paying more attention to the task of choosing a simulation than to her emotions. 

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, but I feel -- I'm just so tired of it, Jean-Luc," she said wearily. "Expectations I don't care to meet being pushed at me in the name of love, and I just want it to stop."

"I need some context, I think. And I think I don't want to have this conversation on a sailboat trying to show you the ropes. Computer, load program Picard 45-A."

The grid shifted to his simulation of the Muir Woods, and the arch vanished as he took her hand and tugged her over to their bench in the forest glade and sat in the pool of sunlight there. She sat with bowed head and gathered her thoughts for a moment. "I attempted, between appointments, to talk to my mother about Senna. I never even got to broach the subject -- she's in the middle of one of her optimistic flights of fantasy. By 'optimistic' I mean 'near delusional' -- she insists that putting the most positive face on any situation with any person is the right thing to do, but she chooses -- she spent twenty minutes telling me about a man she met last week. She would like for me to believe that this is her perfect mate, not the last ten men she's met in the same way and gotten tired of, or irritated them into leaving, or discovered that they were already married or otherwise unsuitable."

Jean-Luc sat with her for a few minutes thinking about that, being somewhat confused by it. 

"Jean-Luc?"

"I know how it went, with Senna and Greg. It took them a little more than seven months to decide to get married, and I thought it was fast. And I've known you for almost that long, spent several months trying to be just a client and failing before allowing myself to rewrite my life to include you, and I'm on the verge of letting you move in with me and take over my closet.... I already can't imagine not having you around. If I extrapolate from my admittedly-limited sample set I have to assume it's unreasonable for a Betazoid to just jump right into something. But Senna claimed that the universe has its way with us and nothing happens by chance, yet Greg tells me that Betazoids don't believe in soulmates, they will choose -- why are you laughing?"

"I love you, Jean-Luc," she exclaimed, reaching up to caress the back of his head. "You think that Mother is anything like the rest of Betazed. She prides herself on not being predictable."

"So what is it then? Do you think we're together because of fate, or because we choose to be?"

Deanna leaned on him, head resting on his shoulder, and kept running the tips of her fingers along his head. "I think I should point out that there are other ways to view such things. Neither, and both, can be true."

"Am I wrong to think that this means Betazoids can believe in paradox without suffering consequences?"

"It's not paradox to think that we can change fate, by moving in a different direction or deciding that reality should be something else. You want to make things too simple. Will tried to do that too."

"Are we in a serious relationship?"

That made her slide away from him so she could look him in the eye skeptically. "I'm wondering why you are able to say I'm moving in and then suddenly ask if this is serious?"

"I didn't know how to answer when Will asked the question. I should have asked whether he meant by Betazoid standards, if there is such a thing. And I've never had a serious relationship, or at least not one that I stayed in rather than running away before it became serious, by whatever standard I had at the time."

Deanna sighed audibly, and folded her hands in her lap. "Will's been waiting for us to fail, then."

"He doesn't know enough to understand how much I don't want to fail, because I have not told him."

"This feeling you are having right now, this is what you felt earlier -- when you were talking to Will?"

Jean-Luc sighed. 

"What are you trying to do? Obtain information from Will about me?"

"No," he blurted. "Not at all. I don't think he understands -- but I don't know, if this is anything like what you had before. With him. He tells me things, but without any real context, as if he's had experience that he thinks I should benefit from, or -- "

"All right. If it will help you stop feeling this doubt, let's play a useless comparison game."

"Useless?"

Deanna put a hand on his, where it lay on his thigh. "Or do you want to know what it was like with him so you'll understand that nothing he says matters to me right now? We could talk about Betazoids in general, but I'm not really exactly like other Betazoids."

It was reassuring, in fact, that she wasn't ruffled by his anxiety. "I think you are the best judge -- I don't know how I can resolve this, what information I need. I want to trust my first officer's judgment but I think it's impaired where you are concerned. But then he questions whether we are serious, and I wonder if he sees anything that I don't, that might indicate that it isn't going as well as I think -- "

"Stop," she interjected firmly, gripping his hand. "He doesn't see anything. Do you know what Beverly sees?"

"I'm afraid to ask."

Deanna smiled at that. "She thinks we're happily honeymooning away. That we're doing very well. She's paying attention. Will may not realize it but he's brooding more than he's paying attention -- though we don't give him very much to pay attention to, we only sit in the same room with him together in staff briefings. Same as Beverly who thinks we're fine."

"So you think I should adjust my interpretation to account for his lack of input."

Her perplexed expression was priceless. "You should stop paying attention to my ex."

"What should I do with my first officer?"

"Ignore extraneous output?"

Jean-Luc raised his head and sniffed. "So this is serious? We are serious. So will you expect me to change my name?"

Deanna bent forward and put her palms to her forehead, curling her fingers over her hair. "Why are you doing this?"

"I want to feel better about moving forward. I don't think I know enough to feel...."

"All right, why aren't you talking to me and asking me questions, then?"

He grinned. "We have better things to do than talk."

She started to laugh at him, now that he was in an embarrassed state of self-mockery and feeling ridiculous. "Stop being silly," she chided. "Just ask me -- you don't have to worry about what the rest of the Betazoids want, or what Will pretends I want." She sat up again and put her arm through his, leaning on him again.

"You appear to want what we have. And yet people say things, and it makes me think I'm missing something. But you're right, so you should tell me what you expect of me."

"What do you mean by that? What I expect? You're fine as you are."

"Greg said... he told me that Betazoids view physical intimacy differently. That if a spouse were to have sex with someone they meet, it isn't necessarily considered cheating in the way most humans would view it."

He regretted it at once. She stiffened, and sat silently for a long, tense moment. "Are you asking me if I am of the same opinion, or -- "

"No," he exclaimed at once. "I mean, yes -- but only because I want to understand how you feel, I don't think I would be comfortable at all with an affair of any kind. It would be difficult, if -- if you were to do something like that and...."

Her hands went over her eyes again for a moment. It was difficult to sort out who was feeling what -- he didn't want to feel this way again, whether it was hers or his emotions. Then he saw tears leaking from under her hands.

"I didn't mean to do this," he murmured, desperate.

"No, it's not that," she said weakly, starting to wipe at her eyes. "I want you to think about the way we feel, together, when we're connected this way. What it would be like to know I'm with someone else and then you can tell how I am feeling while I'm engaged in sexual activity with them."

He nodded, and felt quite foolish. "That would be the difference between empaths and telepaths?"

"Please don't ask me to tolerate -- even if we're far apart," she whispered plaintively. It was far too much distress to lend to a hypothetical situation. He thought she must have experienced it and been traumatized. And then he started to feel the anger.

"He did that?" he said, almost growling.

Deanna leaped to her feet and started to pace back and forth in front of the bench. "Will you stop? I'm _trying very hard_ not to prejudice you against your first officer and you aren't helping!"

"Neither is he."

"There were misunderstandings, between us. He thought he knew all about Betazoids because he had a girlfriend, before me. She wasn't an empath. She took him to wild parties and they had some wild fun with multiple other partners, because there are those on Betazed who started all those rumors that because we're all so sensual and in touch with our feelings and different that we're open to any kind of sexuality that anyone would want to try," she exclaimed, as she stalked to and fro. "He didn't think I would mind if he saw her again. He'd told me about her. He told me he was having dinner with her, I knew they were still friends, she worked with him. It didn't occur to me what he meant until I sensed what they were doing. It wasn't anything but poor communication between two young people -- we broke up for a while because of it, and he came back and apologized, said it wouldn't happen again, and it didn't. He proposed several months later. We argued quite a lot and we had horrible loud fights, and angry sex -- I don't want to go back to that, because it wasn't as much fun as it sounds."

Jean-Luc watched her pace farther away for a bit, circle around, come back -- she still had tears on her face but there was determination shoving aside the humiliation she had at this confession, and he could tell she didn't want to continue. "Deanna," he began.

"Mother argued with him about wedding details but she was all for it," Deanna snapped tearfully. "She had more than a hundred friends and relatives there. Will and I had had a fight just a week before, mostly because we were both incredibly anxious about the entire thing because Mother was so intense -- and I was having second thoughts, and so was he. But he told me he loved me, and he knew it was all worth it, because we'd be able to find a posting together and have beautiful children and be successful officers -- all the while Mother would comment about helping us find a house near her and looking forward to grandchildren to take care of, and I felt like my head might explode. And on the morning of the wedding just half an hour before all the guests started to arrive, I got the message -- it wasn't even a call. A message that he was on his way to his next posting aboard a starship. That he wouldn't be there, and he was sorry. I must have cried for a week without stopping. Cry myself to sleep, cry myself through eating something I couldn't taste, cry sitting in the shower."

"I'm sorry," he said softly.

She pivoted and came to him, unexpectedly dropping to her knees at his feet to look up at his face. "I didn't know that I would ever find anyone again. I didn't know that it could be the way it is with you, and I didn't know that I would feel so differently -- I don't compare you to Will because there isn't much similarity. We don't bicker or argue. Please stop listening to Will."

There wasn't much he could do other than to agree. "Please," he said, holding out his arms. She took his hands and he helped her up, then stood up with her and embraced her. "I'm sorry. You're right. I shouldn't question -- I simply don't want to do anything that -- "

"Jean-Luc. I'm not going to make you change your name, or do anything else you don't want to do. And I won't let Mother bully you."

He sighed, closed his eyes, and smiled. "Thank you."

"We should change the simulation. Put a bed here instead of a bench, so we can relax together and have some wine while we talk about something that isn't stressful."

The computer complied without the usual prompt -- the bench vanished, and a bed appeared in a shimmer of particles. And then a table next to it, with two glasses and a wine bottle.

"Let me tell you about the resort I found," he said, as they moved to take advantage of it. She shot him a knowing smile.

"Would that be the one near the beach, called the Lover's Aerie?"

"I see great minds do think alike," he said, accepting the glass from her and watching her pour the wine. "I already made the reservation."

"Then I suppose I'll have to cancel mine," she said, raising her glass. "To great minds."

"Hear, hear."


	20. Chapter 20

"The bolsters, the scarf, yes," he said, as they walked toward his quarters. "The chains... no."

Deanna smiled and patted his back, which surprisingly did not disturb him a bit. He'd been showing less and less cringe, about being touched in public aboard the ship. "I agree. And the blindfold?"

Jean-Luc harrumphed -- what he didn't like was extended conversation about all the sex toys they had had in the room at the resort, although he was going along with it as she sensed when someone was coming toward them and stopped talking well before they could be overheard. "No objections to that. I have to say you're revising my opinion on a lot of things."

"In a good way, I hope?"

He turned and gave her one of those smiles that made her want to beam back down to the resort. She responded in kind, and both of them stood there awash in joy. When he was off the ship he could be so relaxed and different. "Beautiful," he murmured, touching her sleeve gently.

She blinked at that -- his emotions were as they had often been over the past three days. Warm, loving, and without doubt. He said the word and nothing in the emotional landscape suggested that he was at all hesitant or forcing the sentiment. She found herself moving toward him, not physically but emotionally --

"Come on," he said quietly, taking her under his arm and keeping her moving toward the door. "Not out here, thank you."

"We should go to Risa, some time. Or you could talk to one of your friends about some dig, we could go spend some time doing -- what?" The disbelief from him was a little startling.

"You would go on a dig with me?"

"I've never done anything like that, I might enjoy it. I can't expect you to try new things that I suggest if I don't," she said.

"Hey," came the happy voice of Will Riker. They turned as one to see him sauntering toward them, a large duffel over his shoulder. "How was the leave?"

"It was wonderful," Deanna exclaimed, beaming happily. "Did you enjoy your skydiving trip?"

Will shrugged, and gave a lopsided grin. "Didn't get around to it."

Jean-Luc wasn't very happy to see his first officer, which was concerning. But it might have been merely the interruption -- he gave a subdued smile and finished the walk to his door, heading in to let the two bags he carried fall to the floor. Deanna waved to Will and followed -- then caught a look at the names next to the door. Hers had been added under his. She grinned and went inside, following him through to the bedroom. He went onward into the bathroom and she stopped at the mirror, the dressing table, and ran her fingers over the dish of her earrings and the small tree that she kept hair bands and hair nets on.

"I had it all moved while we were gone," he exclaimed from the open bathroom door. He came back as he dragged the green shirt over his head and went to the closet, touching the door -- it slid back and he put the shirt down the slot nearby on his right, reaching in for a uniform. She saw also the golden box that had been sitting in the same place in her closet for months, on the floor, lower right corner. "You can rearrange as you like. I'm not particular about where things go as long as things are put away."

"I love you," she said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

He didn't meet her eyes, but he was smiling, as he pulled on the uniform shirt. "I would like to note, for the record, that I may be happier than I have ever been in my life."

"I bought you a present, sweet man."

Jean-Luc stepped out of the pants he'd been wearing and put on fresh uniform pants. As he fastened them, he smirked. "It's that oil, isn't it?" The oil was amazing -- something she hadn't seen before, even on Risa. It had some potent aftereffects when massaged into the skin.

"Just in case the replicator has trouble getting it right."

"I'm going to the bridge. Check in, make sure everyone's aboard, disembark for the space station -- we should be there in less than an hour. Senna should be waiting there for us. I might have a message from her. You have, I know, taken the next couple of days off to spend the time with her. I'm hoping that you can make up for lost time."

"I'm looking forward to it. You're going to spend time with us too, yes?"

"I may need some persuasion in this matter. Stubborn as I am."

She extended a leg to hook her toe behind his calf, as he approached. He put the last pip in place and came forward as she fell back on her elbows on the bed, and leaned in to kiss her, planting his hands on either side of her. He spent a long moment giving her a languorous and intense kiss. And then he was off and walking out of his -- their quarters. Deanna sighed, staring at the stars overhead for a moment, then left the bed and went to drag the gold box out of the closet. It took effort to pick it up and she waddled out to the living room and put it on the table with a thud. The impact woke up the face on the front -- his eyes flew open, his gilded lips smiled, and it began. "I hold a message for Deanna Troi," he cried.

"Shut up." To her surprise, it worked. The eyes closed, the face went back to sleep. She popped the latches on each end and the lid sprang open. Running her hands through the hundreds of multicolored stones glittering inside, she sighed and wondered where Wyatt was, if he was still as happy as he had been.

When the door chime went off she turned and let Will in. He came in slowly, smiled at her. He, too, had gotten back into uniform. "I got you a housewarming gift," he said, holding up a beautiful crystalline flower in greens, reds and yellows. "For the official moving-in, y'know."

"So you knew? Of course you did, he couldn't give the order without your knowing about it," she said, taking the flower. "It's beautiful -- thank you, Will." She placed it in the center of the table behind the box.

"I'm not going to ask any more if you think this is a good idea. It's a stupid question, now. But I hope you're right." He gazed down into the box. "This is that box the Millers gave you, isn't it?"

"They moved it in as well, those diligent ensigns who move things on our behalf, but it doesn't belong -- I'm debating whether to store it or just recycle the entire mess."

He scooped up a handful and let them trickle through his fingers. "Aren't these singing stones?"

Deanna took four of them, each a different color, and held them out to him in her open hand. He put his hand over hers, and the stones vibrated and made discordant sounds. They were supposed to sing in harmony for a good match. It was why they were given as bridal presents. She realized that she hadn't even tried to use them with Wyatt.

"They are indeed. Not even the cheap ones you find in the tourist shops," she remarked, tipping them back in the box. "But I don't need them."

"A friend of mine tells me that I'm on a short list for my own vessel," he said. He left his hand resting on the edge of the box and seemed to be contemplating the face on the front.

"That's happened a couple of times. Are you taking this one?" Deanna ran her fingers through the stones idly. They clicked and tinkled around her fingers.

"I'm thinking about it. I wanted to know what you think."

Deanna left her hand in the stones, enjoying the cool, smooth contact, and looked him in the face. He was serious and for the first time in a long time, he seemed calm, without frustration or anger, without the undercurrent of pensive waiting to speak his mind. It might be possible to talk to him openly again. "You chose this posting for a reason. I don't think you've ever explained what that was."

"Because it runs counter to everything I was so adamant about, before. It was something that I felt I needed. I'm not sure I could explain why... I met the captain before, you know?"

"No, I didn't."

"He and Captain DeSoto are old friends. He spent a little time aboard once."

And Will Riker the first officer of the _Hood_ had been impressed. Probably the off-duty version of Captain Picard had been quite appealing -- Deanna remembered the moments of surprise that she'd sensed from Will early on, in the first weeks aboard the _Enterprise_. "He's one of a number of officers I have met who have distinctly different personas, on and off duty. I'm assuming he was visiting and not on active duty. He took time to engage in other pursuits -- teaching, spending time with friends, and participating in an archaeological dig, before taking this command."

"He told me that was because he was having difficulty deciding what to do. I was sorting through those same feelings. I think that's why I chose this instead of command, I thought he would understand, and this is a family vessel," he said.

"I'm sure he understands." Deanna looked up at his face then, and found he was looking as crestfallen as she sensed. "You were going to -- I believe the expression is 'feel me out' and see how it went, and you were optimistic that we could get back on track. But I'm not that person anymore, Will. I'm not going to be that person again. I went through a lot of therapy after you left, and I had my own reckoning with that selfish girl that I was. If it had gone according to your plan we might not even be friends because I would have turned you away, regardless. Because I really don't think either of us changed in ways that make us compatible. And that's your journey -- at whatever speed you go, doing as you must, but we're in different places than we were and we're not good for each other now. I don't think you would be happy sitting and reading with me, or just being quiet with me."

His brows came together at that. "Is that what you do? That's all?"

"I offered to teach him chess. He doesn't know much beyond the basics. Sometimes we talk a bit about one of our various interests, none of which you share -- I can sense the urge to roll your eyes even if you don't actually do it, when I talk about my profession. It's nice to be taken seriously by someone."

"I just don't see why it all has to be so complex," he exclaimed. Then grinned. "I guess I see your point."

"But I think you could stay aboard, just the same. It depends on whether the original plan was the only reason you came aboard, or you might follow a revision of it, or if you think there might be other benefits to staying that outweigh the allure of a command of your own. You might find someone with whom you really are compatible, you know."

"True. I'm impressed, actually, that he hasn't just asked me to leave -- it might have been easier. I haven't been the most accepting"

"He wouldn't do that, any more than he would ask me to stop being your friend."

Will tilted his head slightly as if trying to parse that. He nodded thoughtfully. "So that helps me make the decision. Thanks. It also explains why you find him so appealing, I suppose."

She shrugged, knowing the low neckline of her pink dress would respond nicely. "The sex is -- "

"Okay, I'm going now, up to the bridge," he exclaimed, turning and brushing with his hand in the air to fend off the topic. "See you later."

He didn't even look back as he left. Deanna looked again at the box of stones, picked it up again, and waddled back in to the bed, then tipped the box forward, spilling half of them out. It made the box much lighter with it half full. She closed the lid and carried it from their quarters. As she expected because she sensed her friend's approach, Tasha was in the corridor, making her way in uniform toward the bridge to report for duty as well.

"Here you go," she said, handing off the box. Tasha staggered back with it and studied it.

"Isn't this that box of stuff the Millers gave you?"

"They're Betazoid singing stones. When you and your lover touch them together they sing with all the harmony between you -- it can be very pretty. Go spread them around on the bed and give it a try."

"Okay," Tasha said, incredulous but eager. She turned and jauntily bounced back toward Beverly's door. Deanna went to the lift.

When the lift opened on the bridge, Jean-Luc met her in the door unexpectedly, joined her inside, and said, "Shuttle bay."

"What?"

"There's too many crew still at large and due to the way the return times were staggered it'll be four more hours before they're all back aboard," he said. "So Geordi will take us in a shuttle to get Senna, and we'll be back well before then. Saves the ship some travel time to and fro, and according to the message I received, Senna is already there and waiting for us."

"Oh, well, all right then." She leaned on him until the lift stopped and followed him out, surprised that he had his arm around her as they entered the shuttle bay and headed for the shuttle where Geordi was waiting for them.

"All ready to go, sir," Geordi announced, showing them in the door.

"Did you have a nice time on leave, Geordi?" Deanna asked as they took seats in the front of the shuttle, leaving the helm for Geordi. He dropped into that chair and started to make his fingers dance.

"I did, thanks. How about you, Counselor?"

"I had a wonderful time," she replied serenely, ignoring with steadfast determination the discomfort of her companion. Captain Picard had difficulty relaxing in the company of junior staff, or any staff really. "How is your mother?"

"She'd doing great! She said to give you her regards, Captain," he exclaimed while tapping in commands. "Bridge, this is _Copernicus_ \-- we're ready to disembark."

"Launch confirmed -- see you in a couple of hours," Will's voice came back.

The main viewer lit up and gave them a view of opening bay doors, and then they were rushing through them -- even though the inertial dampeners guaranteed they weren't feeling any gravitational forces she always felt that way, watching the evidence of how fast they were going. Geordi had them at warp and cruising in no time.

"I may be able to cut off a little travel time," he exclaimed.

Deanna wondered if he was feeling better overall -- he'd come to see her a couple of times in the past weeks about performance anxiety, a repeating theme among _Enterprise_ officers who had bridge duty. But some of the reason for that anxiety was sitting next to her, so she settled back in the chair and watched the stars on the viewer. It was almost meditative. The hour passed comfortably; it wasn't an unusual thing to have extended periods of silence on the bridge, either, so she was accustomed to being surrounded by her friends and co-workers, all either somewhat engaged in ongoing monitoring of their small piece of the ship or thinking about other things as the _Enterprise_ traveled the galaxy, and being quiet.

Geordi contacted the starbase well before they could see it and dropped out of warp -- they approached on impulse and came to rest inside one of the Starfleet docking bays on the station. "Excellent," the captain exclaimed as he rose from his seat. "We should be back in less than twenty minutes -- it shouldn't take long to find her. She's waiting in the commercial transport area."

"I'll wait here for you sir, no problem," Geordi replied.

Deanna followed Jean-Luc from the shuttle. In the corridors he swept along at a rapid pace until he recognized that she felt left behind, then stopped and turned as she closed the distance between them. "Sorry," he muttered. They were in a junction and had only seen a handful of people. He appeared to be sticking to the back corridors instead of using the more populated main corridor.

"You're preoccupied and nervous."

"Not an excuse," he said, putting a hand in the small of her back and walking with her instead.

They finally emerged in a broad corridor full of people -- and then Deanna sensed her, standing out to her like a beacon, and stopped. It brought him to a halt as well. "She's coming," Deanna muttered. "She was obviously looking for me."

"That's convenient -- not sure why I didn't think of it," he said.

"There she is," Deanna said. A tall woman in a long flowing black dress appeared, the rest of the people walking the corridor flowing around her as she turned toward them and approached at a stately pace. Senna was as tall as Will, with a heart-shaped face, a pointed chin, a delicate nose -- she kept her hair long and straight, and today it was braided and draped down her left shoulder, a red flower tied in the end. She was also clearly very pregnant. Jean-Luc was nervous, edging on intimidated. That actually made sense -- a Betazoid woman in her prime was a force to be reckoned with, and Senna had a gravitas that Deanna's mother never showed.

"Deanna," she said with a broad smile, opening her arms as she came close enough to touch, and Deanna moved into them and found herself almost smothered in the dolman sleeves of the dress she wore. The calm, reassuring presence was one she remembered, even though she hadn't been a true empath until her teens -- she'd been as sensitive as any Betazoid child and Senna had been one of her primary caregivers during the first six years of her life. If she viewed it through the psychologist's lens, Deanna knew that this had balanced her and stabilized her; if not for Senna she might have been as flighty and moody as her mother. 

When Senna let her go, she glanced at Jean-Luc -- he stood back against the wall near the door they'd come out of, waiting. Senna flowed toward him, and he withstood the brief embrace with stalwart determination. "You have not changed," she said, with the same accent Deanna remembered.

"You have," he replied. He was looking at the large bulge in the front of her dress.

Senna laughed, and Deanna couldn't help but join her. "You are in a hurry? You feel impatience."

"We came in a shuttle -- if you have luggage we should -- "

"We can have the transport beam it wherever you wish it to go," Senna said. "Are you all right, Little One?"

Deanna blinked up at her cousin -- the nickname had been bothersome since her teens, and she disliked it more now than ever, as it reminded her of her mother. Senna, unlike Lwaxana, took notice and immediately softened, reaching to take her hands.

"I'm sorry, Deanna. I did not realize that bothered you. Of course it would, you aren't a child."

"Shall we?" Deanna said, taking her arm.

It was a slower walk back to the shuttle, and Senna spent the time communing with Deanna in a way that her mother sometimes did, but the older woman's calm was soothing. By the time they entered the shuttle Deanna, and by association Jean-Luc, were quite content. Senna sat next to Deanna, glancing at Geordi.

"Geordi, this is my cousin, Senna Debral. This is Lieutenant Geordi LaForge -- he's our helmsman."

"Hello, Lieutenant," Senna said with a smile.

"Hi, nice to meet you," Geordi said. "Are we ready to go?"

"Please contact the commercial terminal and have them beam over Miss Debral's luggage," Jean-Luc said. Which amused Senna, and in turn Deanna, but neither of them said anything about the way he addressed her.

"I was on the transport called _Delightful Voyages_ , unfortunately not as delightful as it was advertised," Senna said.

"The commercial transports are less well appointed than the _Enterprise --_ I think you'll be much more comfortable with us," Deanna said. Geordi contacted the named transport while she spoke quietly.

"I'm also much more comfortable traveling anywhere in space on an armed vessel, with a trained crew -- I shouldn't let Greg tell me stories, perhaps," Senna said without a trace of anxiety. She touched her belly with a slight wince. "Russell is kicking again."

"Have you been very anxious?" Deanna was aware that many pregnant women experienced anxiety.

Senna sighed, nodding sedately, surprising Jean-Luc. "I went through that for three months. It's much less a problem now. Though I'm feeling it more traveling away from the girls -- I had to bribe them so they would calm down, they wanted so much to come see their father and their uncle."

"Greg has a brother?"

Senna turned her head slowly to stare at Jean-Luc, who had taken the seat behind Deanna. "Rebby told Reno about seeing you over subspace, and now they both want to see you."

Deanna saw Geordi pause in what he was doing, as he was startled by that, and then continue to tap in a few commands. The luggage, a couple of large hard-sided cases, materialized in the back of the shuttle. Geordi opened a channel and contacted the starbase for permission to depart.

"I didn't think Reno would remember me," Jean-Luc said after the moment of shock passed. "I'm surprised Rebby wants to see me -- didn't I scare her once?"

Senna hid a smile by turning to face forward and reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ear. "You thought you scared her, perhaps." She passed Deanna a memory effortlessly, of Rebby sneaking up on him and his response being a growl and a lunge -- the little girl had run shrieking, but it was delight, not fear, that she experienced.

"He doesn't actually like children," Deanna said. "Although he seems to be all right with them when they reach ensign, or at least the point at which he can help them apply to the Academy."

Geordi caught himself glancing over his shoulder, but Deanna was sure he was grinning by the way he felt. Senna radiated amusement as well. Deanna looked over her shoulder at Jean-Luc, and exchanged a smile -- he was begrudgingly amused, tolerant, resigned to her teasing, and refraining from comment with some effort.

"I suppose, as I am the furthest from childhood, he might be most comfortable with me," Senna said, continuing the subtle leg-pulling.

"Oh, he seems to do well enough with Geordi. But they both live for Starfleet. Geordi's mother is a starship captain."

"Born to it, then. You seem very comfortable with your role, Lieutenant."

"I do enjoy piloting ships," Geordi agreed.

"Do you also have other aspirations, to captain perhaps?" Senna asked.

"Maybe someday. Right now I'm fine with what I do."

Deanna watched Senna shifting in her chair -- the older woman smiled at her concern. "I think you might discover some day the joys of not being comfortable in chairs for ten months."

"I don't know. I haven't thought about it much." Not since she'd been engaged to Will, anyway, when they were attempting to discuss things like children, the arrangements they would need to make to maintain two Starfleet careers, a marriage and also having babies that would take nearly eighteen years to become self-sufficient.... She knew Jean-Luc was intensely uncomfortable with that suggestion from Senna. And that led to a heavy sensation in the pit of her stomach, as she understood too well that Mother's occasional ramblings about grandchildren would become more frequent in intensity and volume once she had a potential father for them.

"My mom had my sister and I while she was a lieutenant," Geordi said. "Dad said they figured that would be easier than waiting until she was a first officer somewhere, since older kids are more self-sufficient and need less time."

"I think everyone has their own sense of timing," Deanna said. "Statistics say that many people never have children at all, too."

"I had not anticipated a third child, but here we are -- Russell is a Phase baby." Senna's smile took on a sly quality.

"Phase?" Bless Geordi, in his obliviousness, but Deanna wanted to kick him.

"Yes, Betazoid women go through the Phase about middle age -- we become fully sexually mature, with an increase in sexual interest." Senna closed her eyes and appeared to be remembering something delicious. "The sex drive quadruples, in many women. Unfortunate that the men don't experience similar effects."

Jean-Luc was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with this and Deanna closed her eyes, wishing and hoping for a spatial rift to open and distract them all from this conversation.

"Wow," Geordi said after a moment of contemplation. "I mean -- wow."

Deanna stared at the floor, thinking frantically. But again, this was not her mother. Senna put a hand on her arm, and after a silent moment of sympathy, she withdrew and watched the stars on the viewer without speaking again.

Deanna stayed where she was, her hands in her lap, and thought at Jean-Luc. [It's different for hybrids. Some never experience the Phase at all.]

He did as he often did, fell into a quiet state of deep thought, and she closed her eyes and meditated for a while.

When they reached the _Enterprise_ Senna requested time to nap, as was her usual lately, and she had also been trying to adjust to the different schedule of Starfleet time from the time zone she was in on Betazed. Jean-Luc escorted her to her suite but Deanna went back to her quarters -- and when she realized she had gone automatically while thinking about the impact of having Senna there, after all the years of not being with her, she laughed and went back out of the empty quarters to _their_ quarters -- and sat on the end of the bed to fidget and think.

Jean-Luc came in not long after. He was about to say something, but noticed the pile of singing stones she'd left on the bed, just behind her. "What are those?"

"Singing stones. Come here." She reached back, scooped up some of them, and held them up -- when he reached for them they started to vibrate and hum, stopping when he snatched his hand back. He tentatively tried again. The stones sang an aria in high piping notes that raised his eyebrows and made him smile. 

"They sing in tune when the people touching them are attuned to each other. The advertising will tell you all the romantic nonsense about using them to determine your true love, which is why they are popular. There's a long tradition of giving them to brides."

"Shouldn't a bride have a pretty good idea of whether or not she's found true love by the time she's a bride?"

Deanna tossed the stones back on the pile. "Some brides have arranged marriages -- historically speaking. Is everything all right?"

He sat next to her and struggled for words. "I didn't want to think about it," he said at last. "But I should have talked to you before now. We should have talked about the rest of it."

"You mean we should have talked about life outside of Starfleet?" They had discussed duty and Starfleet often. "You're worried that I have different ideas of what that will be like? That I might want children where you do not?"

"I don't know anything but Starfleet," he said.

"You can have whatever you want. You're being anxious," she whispered, taking his hand in hers. "What do you want?"

Jean-Luc shook his head. "I don't know. I want you with me. I think about leaving, sometimes. Leaving the ship, leaving Starfleet. What I might do."

It wasn't easy to sound calm. She didn't like the anxiety and the dread. "You shouldn't worry about me. I'm sure we will work out the details of our future to our mutual satisfaction."

"You want children. I'm not sure I could do that."

She shrugged and put two of the stones against his leg, holding it there with her palm. They hummed in a lower key until she dropped them. "I want to be with you. If you want children we'll have them, someday."

It helped him settle down somewhat. She leaned against him and he put his arm around her. Behind them the pile of stones sang quietly, startling them both.

"Tell me what you were thinking of doing, if you leave Starfleet," she murmured.

"That's part of the problem. I have no idea."

"We could get a house in San Francisco overlooking the city. Or a place in Paris -- why are you so surprised?"

"You don't want to live on Betazed?"

"My mother lives on Betazed. Someday she'll leave me the house and then I might live there."

He started to laugh at that. His badge chirped. "Riker to captain."

"Yes, Number One," he said, still chuckling a little.

"All hands have returned -- we're ready to depart the starbase and heading out to rendezvous with the _Burbidge_."

"Make it so. I'll trust you'll notify me if anything comes up. Thank you, Commander. Picard out."

"You don't have anything to do?"

"There are a few reports to review. I think Admiral Golden may have responded to my message refusing to come to the admiralty ball, which hardly qualifies as working."

Deanna smiled and pushed her head against his shoulder, spoke against his neck, her lips tickling him. "Then why are you still wearing clothes?"

"Mm, why indeed? Do they sing louder if I'm not wearing anything?" He complied with her effort to remove his shirt, and let her push him back -- the quietly-singing stones started to warble a louder melody.

"Did we finish the conversation to your satisfaction?" She settled atop him and the stones started to chime and ring.

"This is getting annoying, isn't it?" he said.

There was a delay of game while she fetched the box from the closet again. "This box is unique," he said while helping her sweep the stones into it.

"It's a Betazoid gift box. It was from the Millers, beamed aboard before they came aboard."

"This was from the Millers, for the wedding? I'm surprised you still have it." He watched her put it on the bed and close the lid. "What are you going to do with it?"

"Recycle it. I don't really have to have the feedback to know we're that attuned to each other, and neither do you." Deanna carried the box over and dropped it on the floor near the bedroom door, then stood there working the pantsuit off, slowly. As she reached up to pull her hair free, his hands found her ribs, slid up to between her breasts and unhooked the bra from behind, cupped her breasts.

"Very nice," he murmured against the back of her neck. He chuckled as she freed her hair. "You don't have any doubts, about the future?"

She put her hands over his and leaned against him, letting him support her weight. "I learned a long time ago that I'm a poor psychic. I make the best decisions that I can with the information I have at the time. I chose to be a psychologist because I was drawn to that work. I chose to be a Starfleet officer for the same reason. I chose you, because I see in you everything that I want in a partner. And I know you feel that way as well."

"I'm getting conflicting messages, about that. Senna makes it sound as though she believes in destiny, you make it sound as though you don't."

"I believe that there are things that are supposed to be, and if they do not work for some reason, we travel other paths." She seesawed her hips against him slowly, as he shoved her panties down and let them fall on the crumpled pantsuit around her ankles.

"Do all Betazoids see life as a journey? It seems an apt metaphor, humans use it as well, but not as a philosophy."

"It is a journey. Computer, secure the door. No interruptions." She turned in his arms and kissed him on the mouth. [You are on my path until you choose another. Do you want to join me in the sheets?]

He did, with some disbelief -- she understood that as she had kept him quite busy on leave. But she really didn't care about intercourse. Being in his arms and his mind was enough, at this time.

"I invited Senna to dinner tonight," he murmured. "I think we have less than an hour."

[It takes five minutes to get dressed.] He held her quietly, thinking intently about something. She ran her hand along his shoulder, stroking his skin. When he didn't say anything, kept brooding, she asked, "What are you thinking?"

"Greg has three children."

"Yes?"

"They waited all this time to have them -- they've been together for as long as he's been in Starfleet."

"Yes. Obviously they are on a different journey than you are."

He moaned quietly, putting a hand to his forehead. "I'm not sure what to think. How do you know when you're ready to have children?"

That was the sound of someone starting to second guess himself, she thought with a smile. "I don't think there is a real answer to that question. Maybe you should ask how Greg knew. Maybe it's something similar to knowing you want to be with me."

"Maybe I'm overthinking it." His soft, thoughtful voice was so different than what she'd become accustomed to hearing from Captain Picard.

"Maybe you should save the overthinking for the next mission and stop worrying. We don't have to think about that right now. Don't feel pressured by other people's suggestions or expectations, Jean-Luc. People will make comments like that when they discover you have a significant other."

He chuckled and stroked her hair. And there he went again. Thinking too hard.

"Jean-Luc?"

"If I waited -- how the hell would I keep up with a child?"

"Jean-Luc, honestly, what are you doing to yourself? Do you do this all the time?"

"It's not like I'm contemplating this at thirty and timing it with a promotion to admiral."

"All right, I'm taking a shower now," she said, sliding away from him and out of bed. He gazed up at her as if she'd insulted him. "You won't relax. Maybe if I wash your back?"

"I'm only saying -- "

"You're -- oh," she said, as it occurred to her what he was doing, really. This was how he renegotiated major life changes with himself. She realized that he had felt a similar amount of agitation when she'd forced him to make a decision about what role he wanted her to have with him. "What were you saying?"

He sat up, left the bed, and actually preceded her into the bathroom. "We can talk about it later. We should get ready for dinner."

"All right. You can shower first, if you like."


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Johnny on the spot, solving the mystery...

"I think you'll find that a Galaxy class starship is a lot more exercise to tour," Deanna said as she and Senna walked behind Jean-Luc toward the lift.

Jean-Luc entered the lift, standing aside so they could enter. Once the doors were closed he asked for the bridge. Senna had a yellow flower in her braid and wore a red dress that was similar to the black one she'd worn yesterday. Last night over dinner, he had listened to Deanna catch up with her -- consequently learning a great deal about Deanna's childhood as well as Senna's early years with Greg from her perspective. And then they had talked about having children, after Deanna observed that she could sense some emotions from the baby and then been invited to feel the baby's kicking around in Senna's belly. Senna had grabbed Jean-Luc's hand and brought it to herself rather than asking if he wanted to, and something about feeling that thumping against his palm set off another round of anxious thinking.

Senna moaned a little and put her hand on top of the bulge in her dress. "You little sadist," she muttered.

"Are you all right?" Deanna's question had a worried edge.

"Fine, I merely have children with pointed feet, if I extrapolate from all the available evidence."

"It sounds like a profoundly uncomfortable process," Jean-Luc commented. There had been the litany of pregnancy woes, on top of stories of toddlers and tantrums, over dessert last night.

"It can be. However, for some reason we continue to do it, and claim it's what we want." Senna shifted and gripped one of the rails. "That was a contraction."

Deanna exchanged a wild look with Jean-Luc. "Sickbay?"

"No, no, that will happen here and there. I can tell well enough when the baby means business. It's not my first time down this road."

They left the lift and Senna followed him down the bridge, with Deanna behind her. Jean-Luc smiled at Data, who stood up upon noticing an approaching guest. "This is Senna Debral. Senna, this is Lieutenant-Commander Data, Lieutenant LaForge you already know -- and Lieutenant Worf, at tactical. Commander Riker is our first officer."

At the mention of the name, Senna started to glare at Will, causing Jean-Luc sudden alarm -- he remembered then what she had said about the aborted wedding and the embarrassment to the family on a planetary scale. "Would you like to see the ready room?" he asked, trying desperately to sidestep whatever it was that might build to a shouting match on the bridge.

"Yes," Senna snapped. Deanna cast him a wide-eyed pleading look and followed her cousin toward the door -- Senna had been on Greg's bridge often enough that she knew exactly what door was which, quite obviously. Both Betazoids vanished inside without a backward glance.

"What was that about?" Will exclaimed. He'd risen to his feet as Data had, and stared after the two women with a bemused expression.

"Apparently if you insult one Betazoid, you insult an entire planetary population of them, Number One," Jean-Luc said.

"Insult?"

"I believe the captain may be referring to when you canceled your wedding -- "

"Thank you, Mr. Data, as you were," Jean-Luc said calmly, starting after Senna. "I'll go talk to her."

When he came in, Deanna was already halfway there. " -- long time ago, and I forgave him. He's our friend now. He's not the same any more than I am."

Senna stood upright in the middle of the room with crossed arms, looking regal and unforgiving. "You're that angry?" Jean-Luc asked quietly.

"I may not have spoken to Lwaxana in years but she shared the memory with many people, we all remember well enough the anguish it caused you," Senna exclaimed firmly. She glanced sidelong at Jean-Luc. "If you had told Jean-Luc I cannot imagine he would still be aboard this ship."

"Senna, please," Deanna said, woe in her eyes. "I believe most of the anguish was Mother's, not mine. You know how histrionic she is. I was so young and so immature -- you see what is between Jean-Luc and I, I think. It was nothing like this with Will. I was distressed but it wasn't as painful as it could have been."

That seemed to have an impact both on Senna, softening her demeanor, and Jean-Luc stared at Deanna with new surprise. She wasn't so much as exaggerating -- she was speaking the truth. They were still as connected as usual and he could tell.

"I don't want to disrespect my hosts," Senna said at last. "So I will not punish him. However, I do not wish to speak to him."

This was shocking, all over again, and Jean-Luc tried to understand this attitude. Deanna nodded sadly. "You shouldn't be upset on my behalf, Senna. I made mistakes with Will too. I was partly -- "

"You were not to blame for his utter failure to show your family the respect of making his excuses in person," Senna exclaimed, her volume rising. "Nor did he apologize to your mother for disrespecting the Fifth House, nor did he make the appropriate reparations!"

"Senna -- "

"He is not Betazoid, we understand, but he was to marry into the Fifth House! He owes the Fifth House -- " Senna broke off into a protracted wince. Deanna caught her by the arms, distressed, and gave Jean-Luc a look that demanded help.

"Sickbay?" he asked.

"Can you walk, Senna?" Deanna asked. "Maybe you should sit down?"

"Dr. Crusher, report to the ready room," Jean-Luc snapped, coming to take Senna's arm and guide her around the low table to the couch.

Beverly arrived promptly, went tight-lipped, and shooed them out of the ready room. She was opening her medkit as they reluctantly left her there. Will came to his feet again as they came out on the bridge, and Jean-Luc waved him across to the observation lounge. Deanna needed no prompting to follow them in. She passed them as they stopped in front of the viewports, and began to pace back and forth.

"What's wrong? Is she all right?" Will asked.

"Don't know. She became very angry when Deanna tried to defend you."

"Me?" Will's scowl was impressive. "What did I do?"

"Something to do with offending the Fifth House and not making reparations," Jean-Luc said, eyeing Deanna.

"Senna is the _mora_ of the Fifth House," Deanna said with uncharacteristic ire. She had started to acquire the familiar pinch of pain in her expression -- a particular set of the lips, tears in her eyes, a quiver of the chin. "Mother hasn't spoken to her since I was seven -- but Senna is still the defender of the House."

"Your mother didn't say anything to me about anything from the past," Will said, sounding upset himself. Defensive, certainly.

"Mother doesn't have to -- that's not her function. She was here to watch me marry someone else," Deanna exclaimed, waving her hands and continuing to pace. "Not spend time with you. She also doesn't deal well with past trauma, in case that was not obvious. You didn't do as I asked, did you?"

"When was I supposed to do that? Why does it even matter -- I have no plan to return to Betazed anyway!"

Deanna's expression morphed into red-faced rage. She spent a moment with her hands raised as if about to strangle someone, then spun and stalked toward the door. "I'm going to Senna -- you can think about the idiocy of that until I've calmed down enough to talk to you again, if I decide to ever speak to you again."

Jean-Luc stared at the closed door after she was gone, pondering that statement. "What did she tell you to do?"

"Send an apology to the Fifth House -- doesn't she talk to you about the Fifth House?"

There was something in Will's face that suggested he might be trying hard not to be amused at his expense. Jean-Luc crossed his arms. "What she doesn't talk to me about is you, your past, or whatever was between you. Why didn't you do that? It seems an odd thing not to make reparations if you had any thought of re-establishing a connection with her."

At that Will shrugged and looked properly chagrined. "I hadn't thought about that until a few months ago when I came aboard. By then I'd forgotten about the issue of the Fifth House -- she may not like everything about it, but I know it's still part of her and she's not going to just chuck it aside. Some of the traditions are insane, though. Absolutely anachronistic."

"Some enjoy anachronism -- I came from a family that thrived on it. Perhaps not with the same devotion to practices that force such great sacrifices, granted." He studied his first officer thoughtfully. "You hadn't thought about how not apologizing might create a diplomatic incident of sorts? I realize Betazed is a full member of the Federation and has been for the past hundred years, but the Fifth House and her mother are... well."

"You want me to make a full apology to the Fifth House. Yes, sir," he said with the firmness of Commander Riker. He abruptly strode out of the observation lounge without a backward glance.

Startled, Jean-Luc watched him go. Then said, "Computer, where is Deanna Troi?"

"Deanna Troi is in sickbay."

Which meant Senna was. He almost ran out to join her, immediately alarmed at the thought that Senna was that distressed. When he arrived Deanna was alone in main sickbay, pacing in circles around the biobeds and crying, her eyes glittering with pain.

"Beverly is trying to stop the contractions. It's too early," she said sadly. "Though the baby would be fine, it's not ideal. And Senna was hoping to spend at least two or three weeks with her husband before the baby is born."

"She's actually in labor? But -- "

"Beverly said that premature birth happens sometimes. But she's guessing that the stress of finding out that Will was here and being so angry didn't help."

He stared, open-mouthed, for a moment. "I can't -- "

"Bridge to Picard."

"Yes, Mr. Worf?"

"Captain Norman is attempting to contact you."

"Put him through to me, audio only. Thank you."

"Jean-Luc," Greg exclaimed at once, "is everything all right? I can't shake the feeling that something is wrong. They wouldn't put me through to Senna, either."

"Greg -- I'm sorry to tell you that Senna is in sickbay. She's having contractions. The doctor is trying to help."

A moment of silence. "What is she so upset about?"

Now Deanna and Jean-Luc were gaping at each other, amazed. "I'm afraid that may be -- "

"The doctor said that she may not be able to stop the contractions," Jean-Luc said over Deanna's attempt. "We're going to get her there as quickly as we can, Greg."

"I appreciate that, Jean-Luc. I'm going to change course -- we should be able to meet in the middle. Have your helm contact us to coordinate."

"I'll contact you the minute we have news."

 After the channel closed, he contacted the bridge and asked for high warp. And then he stood there with Deanna, looking at her, and gave a great sigh. "I think I need a better understanding of the Fifth House. I want to understand this situation."

She blinked away tears, or tried to, and shook her head. "I don't like the old traditions and leaving for Starfleet was my way of escaping both my mother's excessive frivolity and ridiculousness and the House itself. Mother doesn't make demands of me. She's criticized for being that way, sometimes." She didn't seem able to continue.

"Are you afraid that telling me everything will result in my not wanting to be with you any more?" he asked quietly.

She nodded slowly. "I'm sorry. I've almost brought it up so many times... I think about it and don't even know how to start the conversation. It's so complicated, and there are so many other things I'd rather talk to you about. I've actually been contemplating never going back to Betazed at all. Going to Earth instead, or some colony, anywhere you want to go."

"Wait," he exclaimed, holding up his hands. "Just wait a moment."

But she started to pace again, up and down between empty biobeds, shaking her head and looking at the floor. "I'm not going to watch another relationship be destroyed by this."

"Tell me -- "

"I'm not going to do it," Deanna exclaimed. "I'm never going to expect you to tolerate any of it. If we decide to marry we'll do it in a civil ceremony, or in accordance with whatever tradition you wish to follow."

"Could you please do me the favor of explaining what I'm not going to be subjected to, before you decide I won't want to do it?"

His tone, pleasant and so sarcastic, got her attention. She turned and stared at him with tragic eyes. Then came to him in a headlong, almost desperate manner that led to his automatically putting his arms around her. He knew she was agitated and not really thinking clearly, but as she practically burrowed in against him she started to calm down, perhaps balancing her mood against his -- he wasn't upset, far from it. Concerned at best.

And then she started to speak again, very quietly. "You won't want to subject yourself to the piercings, or the tattoos. Or the exams. Or the litanies."

"Piercings?" That didn't make sense.

A throat clearing interrupted -- Deanna stepped backward and he let go, and they turned to Dr. Crusher standing just at the edge of main sickbay. When she had their attention she gestured, and they approached. "You can see her, if you'd like, but don't agitate her further," Beverly said quietly.

She had Senna all the way in the back of sickbay where Deanna had spent her convalescence. Nurse Ogawa was leaving as they went in. Deanna went to Senna at once, to touch her arm. She was propped up into almost a sitting position on the biobed.

"I'm fine," Senna said, reaching up to touch Deanna's hair. "The doctor gave me something to help. Russell's fine. How are you?"

Deanna tried, very hard, but it wasn't going to work. She couldn't keep her face straight and likely Senna could tell she wasn't doing well anyway. "I'm sorry."

"Deanna, my dear, you're correct of course that Riker is in the past and what he did should not be held against him now. But the House -- "

"I'm sure all of that will work out as it will," Jean-Luc said. "You should rest and not worry about that."

"You're right, of course. But I wanted her to know that I'm not completely enraged to the point of not seeing her side."

"I have a question," Jean-Luc said. "When you married Greg, did you have a traditional Fifth House ceremony?"

Deanna spun and stared at him -- he'd shocked her into gaping. Senna smiled and let her head fall back on the pillow. "We did. As you were there I trust you don't need the full rundown on how it goes?"

"I'm curious about whether some of the traditional ceremony might be optional. I don't recall Greg having any piercings. Nor tattoos."

"He got temporary tattoos, to get through the ceremony, and had the piercings regenerated. I'm sure he's long since forgotten all the things he had to memorize."

"Mother," Deanna intoned furiously. Her hands flew to her temples and radiated anguish. "Oh, Mother."

"I'm not entirely certain your mother liked Will Riker," Jean-Luc said. "I think your anger at him, Senna, should be tempered by the fact that Lwaxana sabotaged the wedding. It's an easy guess that she likely exaggerated something -- perhaps insisted that he had to get permanent tattoos that he didn't want. Among other demands? Perhaps she was more in favor of having you marry Wyatt than you thought."

"You think she drove him away," Senna said, incredulous. "Unfortunately that makes sense. It would explain why she wasn't angry at him when she was here with the Millers. I'm so sorry, Deanna."

"I don't believe this," Deanna moaned. "All that arguing and pain -- why did she do this?"

"We'll see you later, Senna," Jean-Luc said. "Since you're able why don't you contact the bridge and call Greg? He was a little panicked."

"Thank you, Jean-Luc."

He had to nudge Deanna out of sickbay -- she stifled a sob as they went toward the lift, and once inside he requested deck eight and pulled her into his arms. "I suppose this might go a long way to mending fences with Will. And I suspect -- Deanna, what's involved in apologizing to the Fifth House, or making reparations, as Senna said he should?"

"He would have to pay her for all the wedding arrangements she made, for one thing. And issue a public statement to everyone on Betazed. Why?"

"Picard to Riker," he snapped, feeling like a heel.

"Riker here," came the sullen response.

"Please come to my quarters immediately."

They met him at the door. He frowned at the sight of Deanna in tears; he said nothing, followed them inside, and waited with hands on his hips to discover why he'd been summoned.

"We've been talking to Senna, about the Fifth House," Jean-Luc began. "As it turns out there's been several layers of misunderstanding. It's looking likely that Lwaxana overstated the requirements for the traditional ceremony."

"She told us we had to do all kinds of things that we didn't have to do," Deanna exclaimed. "I was too young to remember Senna's wedding, but as it turns out Jean-Luc was there. He's been asking the right questions and we think Mother must have intentionally insisted upon adherence to old outdated traditions when it wasn't actually necessary. Captain Norman wasn't expected to obtain permanent tattoos or any of the other alterations that Mother was demanding. They probably didn't have to have the wedding party be witnesses at the consummation of the marriage either."

Jean-Luc couldn't stifle the abrupt guffaw that he strangled into a cough. "Fucking hell," he muttered. "No!"

Will sputtered a few curses in a language Jean-Luc didn't recognize, and neither did the computer apparently. "So what, I don't have to apologize now?"

"Please don't," Deanna spat. "I'm going to spend a week calming down, and then send her my abdication notice from the Fifth House and all that nonsense -- I'll have to find a good attorney to draft it. Change my name, and hopefully establish citizenship on some other planet where being born to -- "

"Hang on," Jean-Luc cut in, raising a hand. "Just spend the time calming down and think about it again when you have. All right? Senna might have to excommunicate you, if you go to those lengths."

Deanna rolled her eyes and fell back on the couch, reaching for a box of tissues she had left on the end table.

"Thank you," Will said. He gazed sadly at Deanna for a moment, then turned and took a couple of steps to hold out a hand to Jean-Luc. "For getting to the bottom of this -- it's good to have some closure to that situation even if it's years too late."

Jean-Luc shook his hand firmly. "Let me know when we're reached the rendezvous with the _Burbidge_ , Number One."

Will left the room. With a heavy sigh, Jean-Luc sat down with her -- as anticipated she nearly climbed in his lap and cried against his shoulder for a while.

"I'm sorry," he said at length when it seemed to taper off.

"You were at Senna's wedding as a part of Greg's side of it?" She mopped at her nose with a tissue.

"I was indeed."

"You met Mother then?"

This was what he hadn't necessarily wanted to discuss. But it was what it was. "She obviously doesn't remember me very well. For one thing, I had hair. For another, I was one of those humans Greg knew, a very low ranking one at that, and she was very busy between talking loudly with more important guests and her own family members and... I suppose it must have been you, she was holding. I stayed well clear of her for several reasons. If you think I'm child-phobic now, you wouldn't want to hear what I was like then."

She giggled quietly at that. "It's strange, how everything plays out, isn't it?"

"Oh... I'm sure we're not finished with strange. This is Starfleet. Weird is part of the job...."


	22. Chapter 22

Deanna sat down at the bar in Ten Forward and waved at Guinan, who came from the other end with a smile. "Hi, Deanna, what can I get you?"

"I don't suppose you have any tequila?"

Guinan leaned back, exaggerating the surprise. "Not your usual request. I have some nice lapsang sochoung tea?"

"Is it alcoholic?"

"You want to talk about it?" Guinan turned around and addressed the replicator. "One tequila shot."

It would be synthahol but she didn't care. Deanna watched her put it on the bar with a solid thunk. "I have had the worst day."

"Given your past worst days, I can't wait," Guinan said, standing in front of her serenely.

She paused to knock back the shot. And to wait for Tasha and Beverly, who had come in and were on the approach, both of them happily emoting at each other. And then feeling concern, as they reached her and sat down on either side of her. 

"Your cousin is fine," Beverly said. "We released her just a bit ago to her quarters. I'm told we'll rendezvous shortly with her husband's ship as well."

Deanna waved that away. "It's not really about her. I'm having difficulty with knowing what to feel, or think, about my mother."

"Oooh," chorused the three women, as if it were terribly obvious why she would. Tasha put an arm around her shoulders.

"I think we need more shots," Beverly said. "What's Lwaxana doing now?"

"I found out that she intentionally destroyed my wedding, years ago when I had one scheduled. I called her earlier and tried to confront her about it -- she cried and accused me of lying, and then when I told her that I spoke with Senna about Senna's wedding and how nothing Mother told us was even necessary, she started to wail about what a traitor I was, speaking to Senna after I was forbidden to and turning it all around so she was the injured party."

They were all three stunned, Deanna could tell. Now the questions would start. Surprisingly, Tasha went first. "Your mother destroyed your wedding? I thought it was Will who called it off."

"He did, because Mother insisted that all these awful old traditions had to be followed -- being naked wasn't even a problem. It was being told we'd have to be tattooed all over and get some specific body piercing done, and that it would have to be permanent -- then there were other demands. She told us we'd have to have sex in the middle of the reception in front of everyone. And now that I think about it all, I can see how she kept adding another thing, and another, as each argument resolved and the previous obnoxious tradition wasn't enough -- it wasn't all there was to it, I'm not saying that. We were arguing about other things because we were both stubborn and young and selfish. But she was definitely pushing and testing us." Deanna pressed the heels of her palms to her forehead. "She had the gall to tell me just today that if he had truly loved me he would have done it all, and all she wanted is for me to be happy."

The three of them went silent. Guinan put three shot glasses in front of them -- Deanna drank hers, shortly followed by the others. "Those were for Beverly and Tasha," Guinan said faintly, turning to get two more.

"I'm sorry," she exclaimed woefully. "I'm just so done with it all. Coming here and embarrassing me with the Millers -- acting as if it was all Daddy's idea. Of course she didn't want me to talk to Senna, I would have found out about everything long before now. I would have known Daddy didn't want me genetically bonded to anyone. Senna told me that Daddy considered it but when he found out more about that tradition, he realized it wasn't fair. Mother insisted that we do it."

"I'm afraid I don't understand -- what didn't she like about Will?" Tasha asked, picking up her shot. She put the empty glass back down and patted Deanna's shoulder. 

"Today she dramatically and hyperbolically informed me in the most indirect fashion possible that she didn't want me to be in Starfleet. She thought that Wyatt would bring me back home and we would set up housekeeping, since he's a doctor working in a hospital on Betazed." Deanna snorted at that. "And then he left with the Talarians. She wasn't happy about it but she can't argue with him. There's simply no reasoning with her, unless I do as she pleases I'm making her life difficult. She's proud of me except I don't do what she wants. I'm being inconsiderate, not having a bunch of children for her to indoctrinate, I'm too busy 'listening to people whine about petty things,' as she puts it."

"So I'm going to guess you didn't tell her about Jean-Luc," Beverly said. 

"Oh -- " Deanna hid her eyes with her right hand. 

"I think she did," Tasha said.

Deanna moaned and kept her eyes closed. "I told her I was going to live on Earth with Jean-Luc, if I ever left Starfleet. Far from her."

"Wow," Tasha exclaimed. "How'd she take it?"

"She was still shrieking when I cut the transmission. I expect it will take a while for her to stop shrieking. I spent an hour meditating after that and I still feel as though I've been dragged around the dojo a few times."

Guinan put another shot in front of her. Deanna gazed at it miserably, picked it up, drank it, and groaned. 

"I wonder what -- Deanna, have you told Will about this?" Tasha asked quietly. 

"Oh, yes. He's upset, understandably so. Not that it changes anything."

They sat together, her friends commiserating silently and switching to tea after Guinan poured them all a round of lapsang. Then Beverly snorted. Tasha and Deanna turned to look at her expectantly. "I was just thinking about something Wes said."

"How is he doing?" Deanna asked.

"Great. I'm the one who's having all the difficulty. I spent all this time worrying about how to talk to him about Tasha, only to figure out he already knew."

"He doesn't seem to have a problem with me," Tasha said. "We get along fine."

"And thanks for the singing stones, by the way," Beverly said, laying on the sarcasm. Tasha chuckled at her ire. "She thinks it's funny when we find another one by accident -- she spread them all over between the sheets and they got pretty scattered, so they keep turning up every so often, humming and singing at the weirdest time."

"Found one on the floor in the closet," Tasha added with a grin. "I put it down her uniform."

"I found out when I got to sickbay that I'm not compatible with two out of three nurses," Beverly said. It led to laughter, which even Guinan joined in. 

Deanna glanced around as the door opened -- Ten Forward was nearly deserted, as it was still alpha shift though the tail end of it -- and Will Riker came in. She smiled tentatively, and he came over to them. "Good afternoon," he said.

"Hello, Will," Beverly said. "Pull up a chair. We're helping Deanna not think about crazy parents."

"Thanks," Deanna said with a roll of the eyes. "I think."

"I suppose that will take a lot of effort, today, after everything." Will was still not happy, but much less irate than earlier. "How's it going?" He straddled the barstool next to Beverly and nodded to Guinan, who already went about getting him what was probably his usual. 

"She seems happier than when she arrived," Guinan said. She placed a glass of what appeared to be beer in front of Will.

"So you gave me half the box," Tasha said, picking up where she left off. "What did you do with the rest of those singing stones? I seem to remember that box was overflowing."

"Oh, I recycled them," Deanna said, making a point to look only at the tea leaves in her cup. Will was immediately interested and amused, and Beverly was grinning. "Too noisy."

"Noisy?" Beverly exclaimed.

Will chuckled. "Singing stones get louder with telepaths than they do with humans. What did you do, roll around in them with him?"

"I'm sorry, I don't roll around and tell," Deanna chided, setting off another round of laughter. 

"Knowing Jean-Luc he probably found them annoying," Beverly said. "That man must have been born in a ruler factory. Jack used to play clown to his straight man all the time."

"He was born in a winery," Deanna said without thinking about it. When Will and Beverly looked askance at her, she added, "His father made wine, grew the grapes and did it all by hand."

"I think he told us that once before," Beverly said after a moment. "He doesn't really talk about it much."

"We drank what little of the wine he had left from the vineyard -- I'm thinking of ordering some under my name," Deanna said. "It's exceptional wine."

"Are you going to tell us about Randi?" Tasha asked, leaning back to look around Deanna and Beverly at Will. 

Will blinked and his eyes went to Deanna immediately. He thought about something; she could sense the same sort of tension as he would have on an away mission sometimes as he deduced what to do in tense situations. And then he smiled, glancing at Tasha again. "What should I tell you about Randi?"

"Well... I heard there was some part of your leave spent with her?"

"Some," he acknowledged with a sly grin.

"Uh huh," Guinan muttered. "Anyone need a refill?"

Deanna sipped her tea and listened to Tasha bantering with Will, and shared a smile with Beverly. It felt like things were back to normal, as far as this small group of officers were concerned. She was happy not to be the focus of attention.

"We really must get a poker game going," Will said -- likely tired of Tasha trying to pry information about Randi from him. "When was the last time you were in a good poker game?"

"If you're asking me, never," Deanna said.

"You're kidding." Beverly picked up her tea cup and frowned at her. "You've never played poker?"

"Even I played poker," Tasha said. "Why?"

Deanna shrugged. "Betazoids always get accused of cheating. I prefer other games. Strategy games, or games of pure chance."

"Who would accuse you of cheating?" Tasha wrinkled her nose at the thought.

Deanna sipped and glanced at Beverly with a smile. "If there were a way to turn off empathy completely, I might escape accusation."

"There might be a way -- if you really insist it's necessary. I for one would trust you without the insurance." Beverly smiled back at her, glanced at Tasha, and winked.

"I think I might be in the way, here," Deanna said, spinning about and sliding off the barstool. She went around Tasha to the one on the security chief's left. "Now you can flirt with each other without barriers."

Will guffawed, and took a long draw of his beer, probably to minimize the grin.

And Jean-Luc arrived -- Deanna had been tracking his progress as he approached from the bridge. He hesitated just inside the door, debating internally, and came across to the group of officers. "Good afternoon," he said politely, as he went to sit on Deanna's left.

Deanna didn't like the awkward silence that followed. Tasha and Will both suddenly went quiet and still. "Are we close?" Deanna asked. The last time she had checked the ETA for the rendezvous was still two hours.

"Within the hour, yes," he said. "Earl Grey, please, Guinan."

"Of course." The hostess turned to the replicator.

"Beverly was just telling me that she would trust me to play poker with her," Deanna said casually.

"Was she now? Has she ever played poker with you before?"

"No one has. I don't play the game."

Jean-Luc picked up the steaming mug of tea Guinan had brought for him and studied her for a moment. "You've been drinking, haven't you?"

"Oh, why would I do that, after being shrieked at by my mother for twenty minutes about how ungrateful and traitorous I am?" She waved a finger at Guinan, and another tequila shot appeared in front of her. "I don't suppose you have a house in Paris?"

"I don't have a house. Should I have one?" He was adopting the dry tone he took when he was being wary of the situation -- being there in front of four senior staff probably felt a little too exposed.

"Where do you hang your hat, if you don't have a house?" Tasha asked. Obviously she was determined to follow Deanna's lead and set aside the awkwardness. She'd moved into the seat Deanna had abandoned; she had her hand on Beverly's thigh. That explained the ripple of anxiety from the doctor, and the tiny, happy smile as she contemplated her tea.

"Hat? I don't wear hats," Jean-Luc said, sounding more innocent than he was.

"Ruler factory," Will said under his breath, grinning again.

Deanna turned her barstool to face Jean-Luc and smiled warmly. She knew the others couldn't see her expression, and she knew he could tell how she was feeling, that she didn't need to touch him or kiss him to make that known to him -- he worked to keep his response to her muted and hidden from their audience by bowing his head over his tea. They sat there that way for a few minutes, as Beverly asked Guinan for more tea and Tasha asked Riker if he still had a house in Alaska.

It felt comfortable, all being there together. No one was at all tense. No one was watching anyone else with any tension. Deanna leaned closer to Jean-Luc, not quite touching him, and he turned his head toward her slightly until they were nearly cheek to cheek. For some small amount of time they stayed that way, and they became aware that others had taken notice. And Senna was approaching slowly. It was of interest to Jean-Luc that Deanna could detect both mother and child as distinct entities with their own emotions.

The sound of the door stopped the conversation as everyone turned to look then watched Senna approach. She'd put on a bright yellow and orange and red dress, and put up her hair in a clip similar to the ones Deanna usually wore to put her hair in a bun. It only made the already-tall Senna look taller. She smiled at them, and elegantly reached to place her hand on the back of Deanna's neck, a gesture she remembered from days spent with Senna as a child.

"You can tell he's closer, can't you?" Deanna said. Senna was, if anything, more serene and happier than before -- difficult to do as she was generally one of the more contented people Deanna had ever met. She could tell that Senna and Greg were quite closely bonded and it was becoming something she could actually sense between them.

Senna started to communicate telepathically then -- and as Jean-Luc's head jerked up slightly in surprise, it seemed she was targeting both of them, with the short burst of memories she passed to them. Primarily memories of dealing with Lwaxana, just a short time ago. Apparently Lwaxana had managed to reach Senna via subspace to let her know how incredibly displeased she was that Senna had had contact with Deanna.

Outwardly, Senna smiled pleasantly, and her dark eyes flicked from Jean-Luc, to Deanna, to Tasha and Beverly and Will.   "I don't believe I have met all your friends?"

"Tasha Yar is our security chief," Deanna said, glancing at the young woman. "And Guinan is our hostess, here in Ten Forward. You've met Will and Beverly, I know. This is Senna. My cousin."

Senna tilted her head, gave Tasha an enigmatic smile. "Tasha. How lovely you are."

It was the opposite of what typically happened with Mother, Deanna reflected. Eye contact, smiling, happiness, and a blush thanks to the way Senna radiated that unique, intense happiness and approval. Tasha had difficulty accepting compliments, as those who struggled with self esteem typically did. She glanced down at the floor, unable to maintain eye contact. Behind her, Beverly was also looking down, also red-cheeked, as if anticipating Senna's scrutiny in turn.

"Are you feeling better?" Will asked, trying very hard not to be worried and failing.

But Senna smiled at him with the same warmth and nodded. "I am, Mr. Riker. Thank you for your concern. I regret the misunderstanding we had earlier."

"I'm glad it was resolved."

"Bridge to captain." Worf's voice was not unexpected; it didn't surprise the captain. Jean-Luc set down his tea on the bar.

"Yes, Mr. Worf?"

"We are dropping out of warp at the rendezvous point. The _Burbidge_ reports that they will arrive within ten minutes. Captain Norman said that he will beam aboard when they arrive."

"Thank you, Mr. Worf."

"We'll wait here," Senna said.

"You don't want to meet him in the transporter room?" Tasha asked.

"I hate transporter rooms. They remind me of all the times I've been in them, seeing people leave." Senna went to lean against the bar, instead of sitting in a chair. It meant being next to Jean-Luc; she smiled up at him. 

"You've seen Greg leave a lot over the past years." Jean-Luc knew, and by association as they were still quite connected, Deanna did too, that Senna and the children were frequent visitors to Greg's vessel, and he had taken advantage of leave more than many starship captains.

"And I have left as well. What is it you say, absence makes the heart grow fonder?" Senna laced the question with just the right amount of sarcasm. "One of those peculiar human sayings I don't understand."

"Do you mean that absence makes you care less?" Tasha asked. Behind her, both Beverly and Will sat up a little straighter -- but Tasha knew from talking to Deanna often that it was damned hard to offend a Betazoid.

Senna shook her head. "I mean that it does not change how I feel about someone at all. Why would it?"

"We're perhaps more aware of how connected we are to people," Deanna put in. "It's more difficult for us to break off relationships as well." But this was not a topic she wanted to continue. Will was starting to feel uncomfortable. As was Jean-Luc, though likely for very different reasons. "Tasha has been very curious about Betazoids, Senna, I think because we've become such close friends. She knows she can ask questions without offense."

"You have good friends," Senna said. "All of them are quite lovely."

It was interesting how the choice of words resulted in such a universal uneasiness. Deanna grinned, glancing around at them. "You're going to be called that if a Betazoid likes you. There's no word in Standard but 'lovely' is as close as it can get when we think you're incredibly attractive as a person."

"You haven't educated them very well," Senna said, her tone mildly scolding. "You are making the mistake of simply ignoring everything and acting as if you are human as well, aren't you?"

It was perhaps her habit all around -- so much so that this forthright observation stung a little, as no human would criticize, which was what they all seemed to think it was. Deanna knew it was simply Senna being observant. "Mother didn't understand that, either. It's simpler to be quiet most of the time. It causes people to be too self-conscious around me, to do otherwise across the board. It's a large crew, and most of them have to see me if they need counseling."

Senna nodded at that. "It must be lonely."

Deanna couldn't keep herself from looking down. She hadn't wanted the senior officers to know so much about her, but she supposed that it was time -- it wasn't so much that she wanted to keep it from them as she'd not wanted it to be an impediment to relationships with them, as it had been at times with other species in the past.

"Lonely, or alone by choice?" Guinan asked softly, as she raised a teapot to refill Jean-Luc's mug. "I think the latter would be more accurate."

"There is a difference," Deanna said. "But both apply, sometimes. Though less often than before."

"Well, I hope not," Beverly exclaimed.

And then the door to Ten Forward opened, and an officer ran in -- instead of going around a table and chairs he flew over the one that lay directly in his path to Senna, an impressive jump for a silver-haired human. Two of the chairs fell away with a clatter in his wake. Deanna watched him wrap his arms around Senna -- they held each other tightly for longer than she might expect a human couple to, and she could tell there was a lot going on between them that went unspoken. Deanna was speechless for a moment sensing the intensity between them; she'd never witnessed anything like it before.

The couple parted, beaming at each other, then Greg focused on Jean-Luc, who'd come off the barstool in anticipation. "Johnny! How are you?" he exclaimed, grabbing his friend's hand and shaking it firmly while clapping his other hand on Jean-Luc's arm.

"Well enough -- you know, you missed a few tables on the way in."

Greg laughed, yanked Jean-Luc into a rough hug -- the interplay between the two was startling to the others. Except Senna, who watched with a happy smile. "I missed you -- I understand you might have a good bourbon with our names on it, can you spare a few hours?"

Deanna decided not to question that the party that Jean-Luc had said his friend planned to throw appeared to no longer be an option. She suspected Jean-Luc had quietly rejected the idea of poker with the first officers. Senna confirmed silently that this was so, and exchanged a look with Deanna, while Jean-Luc introduced the officers present, excepting herself. And then he invited their guests along to his quarters, excusing "us" from the company of the senior staff, glanced at Deanna and started for the door. She followed him without a word. Senna and Greg came along with them, each with an arm around the other.

"I suppose Senna told you everything," Deanna said over her shoulder to Greg as they entered the lift. "Including my mother's threat to throw her out of the House?"

"Lwaxana is that furious," Jean-Luc said softly.

"To threaten the _mora_ of the Fifth House with expulsion, yes, she is," Senna said. "And I told her the truth -- I would happily rid myself of further association with her as would my parents and my siblings, as the House has been little more than a burden for years. We have our homes and she has no way of evicting us from them, despite their being on House property. We will be fine. And you are welcome to join us in our infamous, scandalous and nameless existence." Senna glanced slyly at Deanna. "You might also consider becoming a Picard, I suppose."

Jean-Luc bristled a little at it. Senna's peal of delighted laughter startled him.

"You darling man. Do you believe that this bond between you is so easily set aside, that you won't marry?"

"I didn't say that," he muttered. It was a struggle for him to settle out the uneasiness, the excitement, the anxiety and the hope while knowing both of them were perfectly aware of it all. "I simply don't appreciate your managing my relationship for me."

Deanna tucked her arm through his and gazed at his face. When he noticed, he went through a subtle double-take and stared back. The silent little war lasted seconds, and he couldn't help but smile at her.

"You wouldn't be the man I love without that stubborn streak of independence," she said.

"Oh, hell," he growled, looking up at the ceiling. Greg was doing his best not to laugh. The doors opened. He surged out of the lift and Deanna hurried along in his wake. Senna came along at her usual sedate pace with Greg apparently attached to her at the hip. They strolled into the captain's quarters and Greg whistled in amazement.

"I suppose it's a little larger than yours," Jean-Luc said, gesturing at the couch.

"A little," Senna said. She smirked at her husband's mild ire. "I like the picture," she said, pointing at the landscape over the couch.

"That was a recent acquisition. It came with Deanna," Jean-Luc said, going to the shelving behind the desk -- he returned with the bourbon Greg had mentioned, placed it on the coffee table, and went to the replicator for glasses.

"That happens when you let someone move in with you, I guess -- you remembered," Greg exclaimed, when Jean-Luc returned with three shot glasses and a tall glass of tea, no ice, for Senna.

"She's been with us for a day and a half, you know, we may have exchanged a few words about what she likes to drink," Jean-Luc informed him, sounding more irritated than he actually was. Judging from Senna's continued mild amusement this was a normal back-and-forth between the friends.

Greg laughed loudly at it. "You never change. Nice to know there are some things I can count on in this universe. Deanna, this fellow has been a grumpy old man since he was ten years old, in case you haven't figured that out."

"I hadn't noticed," she replied mildly.

Jean-Luc sat on the couch between Greg and Deanna, more or less in the center, and put the glasses next to the bourbon, then picked up the bottle to open it. Greg scrutinized Jean-Luc, which was odd since they wore the same uniform and there was nothing different about him today. "What the hell are you doing?"

"What?" Jean-Luc returned, irritable.

"You have here the second most beautiful woman in the universe and you won't even sit close enough to touch her? Shitty boyfriend you are," Greg exclaimed. He had his arm around Senna and pulled her in tighter as he spoke.

Deanna tried, but couldn't quite stifle her laughter.

"I haven't heard any complaints," Jean-Luc said, as if bored.

"Doesn't follow that she doesn't have any, she's probably got the patience of a saint dealing with you," Greg said.

"Is this normal?" Deanna asked Senna.

"I think they're being a bit subdued, probably unsure of how you'll react to the normal state of affairs. They are quite rowdy when they have a few drinks in them." Senna's smug smirk indicated she knew the effect that would have on both men. She sipped her tea serenely.

"Since neither of them spent much time with my mother I suspect they don't yet understand the depths of my patience," Deanna said.

"Oh," Greg exclaimed, "well, if you're anything like Senna... I'm sure he could blow up your wardrobe and you might scold him."

"Sounds like she might be welcoming of a chance to get new clothes," Jean-Luc commented as he handed a glass of bourbon to Deanna.

"Since you've not shown an inclination to build incendiary devices I haven't worried much," Deanna said. She sniffed at the bourbon and wrinkled her nose.

"If it isn't to your liking I still have some wine," Jean-Luc said at once.

"I think I should get some tea, actually, I'm not much in the mood for alcohol." She made the round trip to the replicator, leaving the bourbon on the table for them. When she returned to the same spot on the couch leaving about eight inches of space between them, he stared at her as if offended until she scooted close.

Before Greg could comment, as she sensed he might do, Deanna asked, "I was hoping, since you apparently both knew him, that you might tell me about my father."

Greg was not so good at hiding his reactions as Jean-Luc, and Senna immediately settled into resigned dread that ran counter to Greg's immediate dismay. He glanced at her as he raised his bourbon to his lips. Senna nodded, and spent a moment collecting her thoughts. "I am sure that your mother has not given you much. She never spoke of your sister again, and part of her anger at us lay in daring to try to talk to you about Ian after he died."

"She told me a few things. She let me keep some of his books. Eventually I learned not to ask too many questions about him. She'll talk to me about how much they loved each other, and how wonderful he was, things like that."

Senna nodded, unsurprised. "Of course. You remember some things about him as well?"

"I remember being with him. I remember his attempts to explain why Mother was so angry sometimes. I can look back at that and understand how little he understood about her then."

"Ian sacrificed a good bit of his career for her," Greg said. "She would demand that he come back for various ceremonies and events. I didn't see him often, Senna was around when he would come home."

Senna was sober, and while she didn't care for the subject she continued. "I think that they were very much in love, but it started to become obvious that she really did not want him to be gone for long, especially after she was pregnant the first time -- she was one of the most anxious people I knew, and while I looked up to her when I was younger it was obvious to me that after you were born she was becoming someone Ian had not predicted she could be. But of course they were still quite bonded to one another and he did his best under the circumstances. At some point he became resigned to never getting that fourth pip. And then that fateful mission came along, and everything went bad so quickly."

"Senna offered to take you for an extended period to let her mourn," Greg said as he returned the bottle to the table after pouring himself more bourbon.

Senna shook her head, actually put her hand to her forehead for a moment. "Your mother has good intentions, I try to remind myself of that, but she has never approached life in ways that one would expect. My mother told me once that we should be careful not to provoke her beyond a shriek."

Deanna sighed heavily. "I told her she should get some help. But we can't force her to do anything, and she believes firmly that just focusing on the positive will be the best thing for her to do. Move on and don't revisit the past. But it's obvious that she's unable to move on, she has difficulties because she won't simply talk to someone about it -- I get so frustrated that she won't be rational about it."

Jean-Luc had been silent and somber all the while and started to feel some guilt, which distracted her. She turned to look at him, and he almost flinched.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Nothing," he said, though it was clear there was something going on. Deanna frowned at him a little. "Nothing we need to talk about right now," he amended.

"Right, we should talk about better things," Greg said, waving his glass. "Like when we get to have the wedding. Can't wait. I'll hope it's not one of those Fifth House weddings so we can have a real reception."

"I thought there might be an engagement first," Deanna said, to deflect. Jean-Luc wasn't appreciating that sentiment.

"You aren't going to stay with this man?" Greg pointed at Jean-Luc.

"Maybe I'm just going to stay with him and never marry him?"

Jean-Luc put his glass on the table and didn't refill it. He stared at the bottle as if considering just drinking it all.

"Stop, Greg," Senna said quietly, raising her hand to touch his cheek. "He's having enough difficulty."

"What's difficult about any of it?"

Senna exchanged a look with Deanna. "I don't think you understand what it took for him to overcome his conviction that he shouldn't allow himself this sort of relationship at all," Deanna said. "I'm not interested in pushing him into anything. Everything is fine the way it is."

Greg gazed at her with a wrinkle in his brow. He knocked back the bourbon and put the empty glass on the table next to the bottle. "Okay... sorry, Johnny."

"Everyone has their own journey," Senna said, taking Greg's hand. "You know that. I know you're excited about this."

"Don't worry about it," Jean-Luc said at last. He waved his hand dismissing it. "I have a feeling we'll sort all that out."

Deanna smiled at him in an attempt to reassure. "Of course we will."

Jean-Luc met her gaze, and caught her hand in his. It was an odd moment. He was still feeling a confusion of emotions but the concern and the hopefulness were foremost. He gave her that decisive nod she saw when he would make a decision on a mission. Then turned to Greg, and pointed at the bottle. "You're not drinking the bourbon."

"Neither are you, old man," Greg said with a smirk.

"It's wonderful how these things work themselves out," Senna said, smiling at each of them in turn. "I think everything will be fine. I think you'll both be very happy."

A chirp from Deanna's comm badge interrupted. She tapped it and said, "Troi, here."

"You have an incoming transmission from Lwaxana Troi," Worf said sternly.

"Oh," Deanna blurted, before she caught herself. "Does she sound angry?"

"She sounds... normal."

"Audio only, please, thank you Mr. Worf," Deanna said, giving Jean-Luc a wary look. He tightened his grip on her hand.

"Deanna?"

With only her mother's tone of voice to go by, Deanna took a moment to assess. Mother didn't _sound_ upset. Which was not entirely unexpected -- more likely this would be the cajoling phase of Mother's get-back-in-my-daughter's-life plan.

"Hello, Mother. Are you still on Shiralea?"

A pause -- how odd. Deanna raised an eyebrow at it. Senna shifted against Greg's side and watched her with some trepidation. Jean-Luc was as tense as he could be when facing down an unknown alien adversary. When Mother went on to answer, she sounded her usual giddy self. "Well, of course -- you know I always spend at least three weeks here when I come, so as to thoroughly enjoy the lovely mud baths. How are you, my dear Little One?"

"Wonderful," Deanna said with a grin. She closed her lips tightly against the impulse to just launch into the full explanation of where she was and who she was with -- it would be better to wait.

"Good, excellent! Tell me all about it, dear. What's his name?"

This was not at all what anyone had expected. Jean-Luc raised his eyebrows at her and waited. Deanna kept grinning. "Well, you met him while you were here. As I recall you expressed some affection for the captain."

Jean-Luc wasn't pleased, but the result was satisfying enough to Deanna. She glanced at Senna -- they were both smiling as the silence drew itself out.

"Oh, dear. I'm afraid that I don't remember -- was he the Klingon?"

Deanna had to choke back the laugh. "No, not at all, Mother, honestly, if you're going to play that game I'll have to have you assessed for dementia -- you remember perfectly well who he is."

"So when are you getting married, darling? I'll start -- "

"I'm not going to marry anyone, Mother. I'm not having children, and I'm not coming home. Nor am I going to tell you where we'll eventually buy a house, or if I change my mind about those things. Not unless you do what I asked you to do, and get some help for dealing with the past. I'm done with your passive aggression and attempts to order me to do things I don't want to do."

"Deanna," Mother exclaimed as if she'd been cut to the bone by such words.

"I'm serious this time," Deanna put in firmly. "I'm not backing down. Not letting you ruin another relationship for me for your petty reasons. My life, not yours, and the less I worry about what you will think about what I'm doing, the happier I am about things. You can send me a message when you're able to talk to me about things as if I'm an adult and not a wayward child. Computer, close the channel."

"Oh ho, bold move," Greg exclaimed. "Joining us in exile?"

Deanna curled forward and put her hands over her eyes for a moment. When she sat up again, the three of them were watching her tentatively. "Computer, place a block on any calls from Lwaxana Troi -- messages only until further notice."

"You are serious," Jean-Luc exclaimed. "Setting me up for a thousand angry messages I suspect, but I'm good at ignoring unofficial correspondence. Like the endless messages about the admiralty ball."

"Now you have another reason not to go -- Mother adores parties and balls. I know she's accepted an offer to be the Federation ambassador to Betazed. She'll probably be invited to it." She smiled at Greg. "Do you get those invitations too?"

"I went last year, in fact. It's fun if someone gets drunk, but only if it's one of the funny drunks -- the snoring drunks just roll under a table, the boring drunks talk your ear off, the sloppy drunks break things -- get one of the jovial types buzzed and they might entertain you for hours." Greg rubbed Senna's shoulder and leaned in to kiss her temple. "Senna's saving me from it this year by having my son."

"We might have a red alert," Jean-Luc said. "I might have to make one happen, if we don't."

"I hope this doesn't have immediate ramifications, dear," Senna said quietly.

Deanna turned to her -- the concern Senna felt started to be contagious. "What do you mean?"

"Your mother is still a very powerful person on Betazed. She could likely freeze all your assets as part of the Fifth House and eject you, since unlike me your property falls under that umbrella. We won't lose our home and I'm not concerned about the moneys invested through the House, we have enough elsewhere, thanks to my father's foresight in predicting Lwaxana's unpredictability and whimsy."

"I'm in Starfleet. I don't care -- I can be in private practice, if it comes to that, anywhere in the Federation. And unless Jean-Luc throws me out I can stay wherever he is."

That bothered him, and he surprised her by putting that into words. "I find it much more likely that you might decide to leave."

Deanna jerked her head to stare at him. "What?"

"I'm not exactly -- "

"I don't believe you," Deanna scolded. Unable to sit still, she leaped to her feet and strode into the bedroom without thinking about it. She paced in a circle, then went into the bathroom to use it. When she returned and paced another circle, she was joined by a hesitant Jean-Luc -- he hovered inside the door watching her come to a stop facing him.

"I didn't intend to upset you," he said.

She stared at the floor. "Do you really believe I would leave?"

"No, but -- I can't simply agree that it would never happen, because I won't expect you to make that kind of commitment yet."

Deanna started to laugh at it, shaking her head. "Oh, Jean-Luc, you sweet, honest, rational idiot."

"Well, yes." He shrugged, embarrassed. "Are you coming back out to play cards with us?"

"Are you going to make me learn poker?"

"You and Senna can keep each other honest, I assume." He tilted his head and approached slowly, as if she might bite him. "You are upset."

"Why do you think I haven't made a commitment to you yet, Jean-Luc? I don't share myself with anyone the way I've done with you," she exclaimed, closing the distance between them and taking both his hands. "I thought you understood that. Don't you?"

"I've been getting the impression, yes. I'm not certain that I like the rapid progression in this respect -- we've actually only known each other for a short time. If I had set myself to this with any rational -- "

"I believe this is something I said before, and then ignored," Deanna said. "Shut up. Let's go play poker."

He blinked at her.

"The appropriate expression is, I believe, that ship has sailed already."

"You can be pushy."

"You're obsessing about nothing, Jean-Luc. Are you in fact going to throw me out now that I've moved in?"

He growled, turning to walk with her, draping an arm over her shoulders. "That would be stupid."

"And that sums up my feelings on the answer to the question of my leaving you. Stop being -- "

" -- an idiot, all right, let's go play poker."

When they emerged, Senna was smiling happily, and Greg began to. "See, she isn't really upset as you think," Senna said.

"She knows her boyfriend well enough to understand he's insecure, I guess," Greg said. "I'll replicate the cards."

Jean-Luc snatched up the bourbon bottle. "Insecure?" he exclaimed.

"Here we go," Senna said, starting to scoot to the edge of the couch to lever herself up from it.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to moving beyond canon into fanon. Putting the alternate in my alternate universe, We'll Always Have Paris looks a little different in this story.
> 
> I think it was irresponsible of them not to at least suggest other options than to simply beam two people into a remote facility and leave them there. Also, there are too many men in Star Trek whose wives languish in the background, dammit.

Jean-Luc knew Deanna was coming, leaned back in the chair and gazed across Paris at the Eiffel Tower, waiting, waving away the hyper-attentive holo-waiter for the fourth time. When he heard the sigh and moan of the holodeck doors he didn't even look back.

"Hello," she said, in that melodious way she had. Finally, he turned. She stood at the table smiling sadly at him, wearing her brilliant blue dress with her hair caught back in a clip and cascading down her shoulders.

"Would mademoiselle like a menu?" The waiter took advantage; Deanna glanced at him.

"Just a cup of coffee, with cream and sugar, thank you."

The waiter looked offended. Jean-Luc cleared his throat. "Café Crème, s'il vous plaît." The waiter nodded and scurried away.

Deanna sat across from him and looked out at the city. Waiting for him to speak, obviously. She felt at him -- loved him, hoped, wanted to touch him, all of it together was like a hug -- and all he could do was anticipate with a deep dread.

Why was it still bothering him this way?

They sat in silence as they often did. After leaving Greg and Senna, the ship had been on its way back to their assigned sector when the time distortions had started. Now they were diverting to Pegos Minor, following up with a distress call from Dr. Mannheim -- why did it have to be the _Enterprise_ for this particular mission? They'd almost gotten back to normal. He felt good about where they were, together, and it led him to more positive thoughts about the future. He'd even started to talk to Deanna about it. To ask questions -- to explore what she saw as possibilities for them, instead of obsessing about what might go wrong. Then Jenice's husband had to request help via subspace sending them on a collision course with a part of his past he hadn't expected to confront.

"I'm sorry," he said at last as she sipped at her cappuccino.

"You have no need to be. What can I do to help you?"

He started to wag his head, had to look away at the Eiffel again. "I left her sitting here, Deanna. At this cafe."

Deanna made a soft sound. When he looked at her again, she was gazing into her cup with a sad smile. "Senna kept saying the universe has its way of taking care of itself. Making things happen as they should. I think you're where I was when Will came aboard, and kept me at arm's length. I wallowed in regret for a few hours. I'm actually glad that it happened as it did -- I finally have closure on something that I struggled with for a long time."

"You want me to view this as an opportunity, to close the door on it for good."

"Why not?"

Jean-Luc snorted at that. "Jenice has every right to be angry at me."

"It's been more than two decades -- she's only human. How could she possibly maintain that anger for so long?"

"You're a counselor, aren't you?"

She laughed at it, in that way that said she wasn't really amused. "I should know better, you mean. Jean-Luc... please don't think I'm trying to criticize. I hoped you might be able to forgive yourself, if you see that she's doing well."

"Doing well? She disappeared with her husband for fifteen years. We have no idea what they've been doing all this time. And now something is going wrong with his experiments -- I don't even know if she's still alive."

Deanna nodded slowly and continued to gaze down at the city below. "At least let me reassure you that regardless of what happens, I'll be here waiting for you." She stood and started to walk away.

"Deanna," he called as he rose from the chair. When she hesitated he followed her, slipping his hand into the small of her back as he reached her. "I know you probably know this. Nothing about this has anything to do with you and I. It won't change anything."

Deanna raised her head and smiled proudly. "I know. And you've been wonderful not being intrusive, taking sides, while we worked through things with Will. So I'll let you do this without me if that's what you want. But you can talk to me any time -- you know I'll be happy to listen."

Jean-Luc pressed his lips to her forehead, then stayed there, bringing his arms up to embrace her, closing his eyes. For the first time since they'd experienced the first time anomaly, he felt more than just her presence -- they connected fully for a while and he let himself drift and be at ease with her. When they parted, they left the holodeck together, and he returned to the bridge, riding with her as far as deck two where she left the lift for her office.

By the time the ship was in orbit around Vandor Four and beaming the Mannheims aboard, Jean-Luc had settled into the tense state he'd been in before -- he knew Deanna was still concerned but she left him alone. En route to sickbay, after having heard Jenice's voice over subspace, verifying that yes, she was still alive, his heart fluttered unevenly. He resorted to the technique he'd learned from Deanna to calm himself. The lift opened, and he stepped out -- a lieutenant went past him going in. He walked slowly toward the door to sickbay. Finally, his rational self recognized that the husband was ill and convulsing, the wife was worried, it might be prudent to offer her support as well.

"Picard to Troi. Report to sickbay," he said, as he approached and the door opened.

He felt the flicker of surprise and heard the response: "On my way."

The man was on the biobed, Dr. Crusher and two of her staff were already hovering and the doctor giving curt orders, and to one side stood Jenice -- she turned at the sound of the door and her wavering smile told him she'd recognized him anyway, despite his inability to give his name over the comm channel.

"Mrs. Mannheim," he said, approaching slowly.

"Jean-Luc," she said softly. Her voice struck him a blow. He forced a smile. She was older, of course. Recognizable, still beautiful, and though she was clearly worried, glancing at the patient on the biobed even while she greeted him, she carried herself well. Calm, collected, mature.

It wasn't easy to find words. Sticking to business might help. "You said there were only two of you left. What happened to the rest of the crew?"

Jenice seemed a bit disappointed, but nodded. "They were working in the second lab. Something happened there a few weeks ago. They were all killed. It was a terrible accident. I don't know exactly what happened. So many brilliant, wonderful minds, just gone."

"Forgive me -- let's move into another room where you can take a seat," he said, noticing Beverly's brief glare. He gestured toward the doctor's office to his right. While he was following her in, Deanna arrived, and followed him in. "This is Counselor Troi. I thought she might be able to help you -- Counselor, I was about to ask a few questions, obtain a little more information about the situation, but join us please."

"Certainly. I assume this is Mrs. Mannheim?"

He winced. He'd not introduced her. "Yes, this is Jenice Mannheim."

"Would you care for something to drink, Mrs. Mannheim?" Deanna asked.

After getting them each a cup of tea, Deanna joined them, sitting in the third chair in front of the doctor's desk. "I confess that I do not completely understand the nature of your husband's work." Perhaps Deanna understood that he was once again tongue-tied; she glanced at him and back at Jenice, renewing her warm counselor's smile.

Jenice held her steaming cup in both hands on her lap. "Paul's always been interested in time. He's never believed that it was immutable, any more than space is immutable. Over the last decade, he came to believe that we reside in one of infinite dimensions, and what holds us here is the constancy of time. Change that and it would be what he called opening the window to those other dimensions."

Deanna nodded. "Which begins to explain what happened."

That startled Jenice. "Have you been experiencing something up here?"

"Yes," Jean-Luc responded, finding his voice again. "What is emanating here is having repercussions light years away, maybe even further."

"That would explain his anxiety. I had no idea it had gone so far beyond Vandor." Jenice frowned in dismay.

"Why this place? Why Vandor?" Jean-Luc asked.

"All I can tell you about that is Paul and the rest of the team searched for two years to find it. Vandor's exactly what they needed. A planetoid around a binary star, because of the dense gravity of the pulsar."

Jean-Luc wondered what she'd been doing all this time. It didn't sound like she knew much technical information about the project. "Did your husband ever attempt to define these dimensions, give you an idea of what he expected?"

"No. But he did say that he was very close to proving his theories. And then the accident."

Deanna leaned to place her cup on the edge of Beverly's desk. "Did he anticipate that these experiments might be dangerous?"

At that, Jenice grimaced. "I didn't think so. Now, in retrospect, he probably did. That would explain all the unusual precautions he began taking, even before the accident. The force field, the elaborate security system. Every time he started a new experiment, he insisted that I stay in what he called a protected room."

"Ah, and that's why you weren't affected," Jean-Luc exclaimed.

She turned pleading eyes to him. "Jean-Luc, he would never knowingly do anything to hurt anyone. But as he saw his goal getting closer, seeming possible, he became more and more obsessive. Maybe that clouded his judgement. This is not how I imagined seeing you again."

"Nor I you." Now he was feeling quite awkward.

She glanced around, smiling again. "You've done well. A great starship in the far reaches of the galaxy. It's everything you'd hoped."

His throat closed for a moment. Fortunately he recovered himself in time to avoid an awkward pause.  "If you can't tell us any more, I need to send a team down to the lab."

That was enough to alarm her. "You can't. It's protected. One of the other scientists made sure no one could get in."

"Excuse me," Beverly interjected softly from behind them. They turned to see her leaning in the open office door.

"Is he worse?" Jenice exclaimed, setting aside the tea cup.

Beverly gave her the reassuring smile she gave everyone. "He's resting. But I'd like you to undergo some tests as well. My nurse will start them."

"Thank you, Doctor." Jenice stood up, and so did he by reflex. To his surprise, she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, then followed the doctor from the room.

"So she is still fond of you, clearly," Deanna murmured. "But no dramatics or grand regrets, or self-recriminations."

Jean-Luc sighed heavily. "Thus begins the long I-told-you-so."

"No, I'm simply observing. I'm glad it's turned out this way. You should talk to her when you have a chance."

He gazed at her, raising his eyebrows dubiously.

"You would not have fallen for a stupid woman, Jean-Luc. At any point in your life."

"Oh," he exclaimed, putting his hands to his eyes, leaning back in the chair. She had the courtesy to not laugh until he started to chuckle, at least.

"Captain?"

They turned as one -- Beverly was back. She came in slowly. "I wanted to tell you about Dr. Mannheim."

"Yes," he said, dropping his hands. "What's the prognosis?"

She crossed her arms -- not a good sign when she was talking about a patient. "I believe he's dying. His neurochemistry's been affected, but I don't know how or why. I've never encountered anything like it before."

"Oh no," Deanna said softly. "How long does he have?"

"Maybe a couple of days. It's hard to predict. All I can do is maintain him or attempt to maintain him until I find out what's causing the damage."

"Can we talk to him?" Jean-Luc asked.

"Not now. Not yet. He's only been awake briefly, and I don't think he would be coherent. We're still working on stabilizing him." Beverly went tight-lipped. "Mrs. Mannheim appears to be fine, she shows none of the symptoms that he's manifesting."

"The captain wanted me to talk to her. Is the nurse finished?"

Beverly turned to Deanna with a fond smile. "She should be done by the time you get there, yes. Go ahead." 

Deanna touched his shoulder as she left the doctor's office; Beverly watched her go, then gave him a speculative look. "Are you all right?"

"Fine. It's simply disconcerting -- I knew Jenice, when I was very young."

"Ah," Beverly said, as if that told her all she needed to know. "Well, I'll keep you updated on his condition -- I'm sure given the nature of what's been happening that you'll want to talk to him when he's able."

"Yes. Thank you, Doctor. I'll be on the bridge." 

It was a fruitless effort, trying to sort out what was going on -- at least until Mannheim awoke and they were able to talk to him, get access codes, obtain enough information to know how to go about shutting down the device creating the distortions in time. There were more incidents -- meeting himself coming out of the lift, reports of increased repetitions of seconds to minutes of people's lives. While Data was down on the planet fixing the machine he spent tense moments pacing the bridge. And then the incidents ceased -- Data returned to the ship. And all that was left was Dr. Crusher clearing the scientist for release from sickbay.

Jean-Luc left the bridge to his first officer and headed down to his quarters, exhausted. He briefly considered going to sickbay.  It was likely they would be released to quarters, as Beverly would be cautious, want her patient to remain aboard at least another twenty-four hours despite Mannheim's insistence that he be allowed to return to his work immediately. He knew the doctor had never come to a conclusion about diagnosis. It probably bothered her that the man's condition had resolved on its own.

He reached the door, knew already Deanna wasn't inside yet -- she always had a late appointment on this particular day of the week with a regular client -- and as the panels slid apart he heard Jenice call his name. Turned, slowly. 

She wore a different outfit, a variegated dress in light greens -- it suited her. She looked as tired as before but not as worried. "I'm sorry, if I am interrupting."

"Not at all," he said. "Is something the matter?"

"No, Paul's being released after they finish a last exam, and we've been assigned a suite back that way," she said, waving her hand over her shoulder. "I would like to talk to you, if you wouldn't mind."

He gestured in his open door. "Come in."

Jenice entered slowly, looking around wide-eyed, and smiled -- there was a bouquet of flowers on the table, in all colors, and other things Deanna had brought into being since she'd moved in were on the walls and other surfaces. Not the spartan standard issue quarters he'd had before. He expected Jenice to notice the framed picture of them on the end table, something Senna had insisted on doing before she left, going so far as to deliberately pose them with Deanna at his shoulder, her head tilted toward him while she faced the camera. But Jenice moved beyond it and wandered a little in front of the desk to look at the objects behind it on the shelves. 

"Can I get you something to drink?"

She turned back with another smile. "No, I'm fine." 

She followed his lead, heading to the couch, sitting together there. And he had nothing left to say. The crisis was over. He needed nothing from her. "How is your husband, then? Recovering I gather?"

"And determined to go back. So of course, I will go. I told him I wanted to talk to you." She folded her hands in her lap. "I knew you wouldn't come to me."

"No, not under these circumstances." What could she possibly want to say? A knot started in the pit of his stomach.

"We have unfinished business."

"Yes, we do." 

"Why didn't you come to meet me that last day in Paris?"

She didn't ask with any emotion -- curiosity, if anything. That made it easier to answer honestly. "I was afraid."

At once, she brought her hands to her cheeks. "Oh, I didn't want this."

"What?"

"The truth." She sighed and looked away, her gaze drifting to the floor. 

"Oh, you want me to lie?"

"Of course. A nice, soft, painless lie."

"Oh, I got the days confused. I thought it was Tuesday when it was Wednesday. I went to the Cafe Moulin instead of the Cafe des Artistes."

She smiled, as he was relaxing somewhat into the conversation and allowing himself to play along. "Ah, that's better. It was raining and you couldn't find a cab. I waited all day. And it was raining. It rained the rest of the week. I went to Starfleet headquarters looking for you, but you'd already shipped out. So, come on, Jean-Luc. Let's hear the truth."

"It was fear. Fear of seeing you, losing my resolve. Fear of staying, losing myself. Fear that neither of these choices was right, and that, and that either would have...." The loss of coherence came with the guilt -- but surely she understood by now.

"For a long time, not a day went by when I didn't look up into the sky, and wonder." Her eyes swept up to the viewports overhead. 

"Each time that I returned to Earth, my thoughts were filled with you," he confessed softly.

Finally, she looked him in the eye. "I've thought a lot about this over the years, and perhaps you're leaving out your greatest fear. The real reason you left."

"Which was?"

"That life with me would have somehow made you ordinary."

"Was I that transparent?"

"Only to me." She smiled at him, with the fondness Deanna had claimed was there. 

It sent him into another speechless state. Inspiration struck, fortunately. "Are you still writing? I haven't seen anything of yours published in years."

She laughed at it -- the reminder brought a few tears to her eyes. "You've been following my work?"

"Of course."

"But I don't write anything you were ever interested in -- you had no use for romance novels," she exclaimed.

He shrugged, keeping the sheepish smile subdued.

"Has it been nothing but Starfleet, all these years? I'd imagined that some day you might find a way to be with someone in spite of your obsession. Maybe a pretty officer you met along the way?"

"That would be your penchant for romance at work," he commented dryly. He pointed with his chin, and she followed his gaze to the end table behind and to her left. 

"Well," she said after gaping for a few moments. She picked up the picture and studied it. "I never would have guessed. She sat with me all afternoon, while they were working on Paul, until he was feeling better. She's so warm and concerned -- and Betazoid, how you must have changed, to be comfortable with a Betazoid! I never would have expected... she's so...."

"I know," he said faintly. 

"She knows, doesn't she, who we were to each other?"

That led to another sheepish grin. "She almost insisted that I should talk to you. Instead of running away again."

Jenice gave him a scolding look. "You are a stubborn one. How long it's taken you to pay attention to the woman in your life."

He laughed with her briefly. "I was too young to understand anything, for too long. I was too young for you."

"If only everything improved as much with age as you," she said with a laugh. 

"Why are you implying that you haven't?"

"Oh," she chided, "I'm an old married woman now. Certainly not as energetic or gregarious as I used to be. It's strange, how it's all worked out -- not anything that I expected for either of us. I fully anticipated you would be in charge of Starfleet by now."

"What about your goals?"

She sighed ruefully. "You mean children and a pretty little cottage in the outskirts of Marseilles? No. Paul is not the paternal type. Oh, you make that face -- what is it?"

"From what I am told the paternal type is merely determined by whether or not he wants children."

Her delighted smile put him ill at ease. Though not as much as it might have before.... "Is she wanting children then?"

"She has lodged no opinion either way. Betazoids don't think about things as we do."

"I confess that I haven't known any Betazoids. I never visited the planet." Jenice looked down at the picture she still held, and leaned to put it back in its place. "Sometimes I wish I had explored the Federation more. I thought I would have the chance with Paul, before we ended up here."

"It seems to me that neither one of us achieved everything we wanted. For me, because the journey has changed me. I've changed what I wanted. I don't have the same idea of myself, either. There have been -- " But he didn't need to delve into his own trauma, with her. "Perhaps I've come to appreciate the ordinary more than I once did."

It sobered her. She gazed at him, chewed on the inside of her cheek briefly, and smiled again. "Your Deanna is not ordinary."

"She would contest that. Perhaps to tell you that no one is ordinary -- Betazoids sense the uniqueness innate in all of us. Nor does that make her special -- they view these things differently than we do. Having a better idea of what we are gives them a different perspective on such concepts as unique and ordinary."

She considered that with a happily bemused smile. "They observe, we assume."

"Perhaps." Or it was simply a differing perspective. One of the things he took for granted now, all the different perspectives in the universe. His new ordinary.

The door opened, and Deanna swept into the room. "Your husband is in your cabin, Mrs. Mannheim. I believe he is replicating dinner."

"Thank you, Counselor," Jenice exclaimed, coming to her feet. "I expect we will see you tomorrow -- you'll come to see us off?"

Jean-Luc came to his feet as well. "Actually... I hope you will try to talk to him about allowing us to take the two of you to a starbase, instead. While I certainly appreciate that he wishes to complete his project, doing so alone with no one else to help him keep the facility safe and in working order is more of a risk than I would expect him to take, with his life or with yours."

Jenice looked at him as if she wanted to cry. "Jean-Luc."

"This is a remote region. If someone else had responded to your call, a non-Federation vessel, they could have done anything -- you should have a staff. Paul should appeal to Starfleet for support. His research could be valuable to them. They would send vessels out here to patrol from time to time."

She nodded, considering it. "I'll talk to him. Thank you. Have a good evening." She smiled at Deanna, at him, and turned to go.

Deanna turned to him as the door closed. "I'll get us dinner. What do you want to drink?"

"Water is fine. I haven't had enough today." He followed her to the replicator and watched her order, taking one of the plates from her and walking to the table with her. "I'd like to talk to you about..."

Deanna looked up from placing her dinner on the table, her fingertips resting on the edge of the table. "About?"

"Where do you want to be in a year?"

She frowned and narrowed her eyes. "Is this a way of telling me you want to do something else?"

"I'm asking you where you want to be in a year. What I want is to be doing something with you, whether it is what I am currently doing or some other thing."

Her head came up slightly. "If you're comparing my situation to hers -- stop it."

Jean-Luc held up his hands. "I'm simply asking the question."

The angry Deanna crumpled and became sad Deanna. Pulling out the chair, she sat down.

"I want more than what I have."

"Maybe you should sit down and eat," she said, picking up her fork. "Before the universe grants your wish in some manner you didn't anticipate."

He obeyed, and they made it through most of dinner in silence.

"If you want," he began, and faltered again.

Deanna propped her chin on her hand and gave him a look of forbearance.

He thought about Jenice, in her long isolation, wilting while dutifully waiting on her husband to finish his project -- giving up the life she thought she would have.

Of course she sensed the emotions that engendered. Tears began to streak her cheeks, but she waited, slowly blinking her eyes clear.

"If you want children," he managed at last. "We should think about that sooner rather than later. Because -- "

Deanna sat back in the chair, withdrawing her hands to her lap, and stared down at her plate. An audible sniffle escaped her. Then she picked up her fork again.

"Do you? Want," he stammered.

When she raised her eyes, her cheeks were wet. "I think you need to want them too."

"But -- I do."

She started to smile through her tears. "You're afraid."

"That's beside the point."

Deanna took another bite of pie, and watched him while she chewed. "What are you afraid of?"

At that, he lost the ability to speak, and found tears in his own eyes. That upset her; she put aside the fork and plate and turned in the chair to reach for his arm, appealing to him with fearful eyes for an explanation. He recovered somewhat, taking a deep breath, trying to put words to what had shaken him.

"I never want to diminish you," he exclaimed roughly. "I want -- I need to see you be whatever you want to be."

That lit her eyes up with joy, and the smile returned. "You wouldn't allow that to happen. Would you? Why are you so afraid?"

He couldn't sit there -- he had to get up and pace. But she caught his arm, and then put her arms around his waist and held him. It was only natural to reciprocate. "I -- "

When he couldn't continue she did. "You think I would let you hide me away somewhere in a corner of the galaxy?"

He snorted at it.

"You're forgetting that she's choosing to follow wherever he goes. It doesn't follow that I would make the same choice."

"I suppose not." It was starting to sound ridiculous. And so he was starting to feel foolish.

"If you decided to jump into a black hole, for example. I wouldn't follow you. Unless you were Captain Picard."

"Wait... what?"

"Or activated the self destruct. I think that's happened twice now?" Deanna backed away, and started to clear the table. "Should I ask the computer?"

"Deanna...."

"I love you too, idiot," she said matter-of-factly, heading over to recycle the dishes. "I need a shower. Come wash my back."

He managed to move his feet as she reached the bedroom door. "Did I mention children?"

"Give me a few months and bring it up again. All right? I think you haven't been talking to Dr. Michetti about your anxiety lately, have you?"

He disrobed wearily, feeling spent, and followed her into the bathroom -- she was just turning on the water in the shower and turned to watch him approach. "Jean-Luc, I know you don't like how it is for her. I know you think she deserved better. But it's never going to be possible to rescue anyone from their lives -- she's not a prisoner of the Romulans, or a Bajoran slave. She is making choices and living as she wishes. You don't have to rescue me from my choices, either. I don't believe for two seconds that you would ever hide away in some facility for more than a decade trying to perfect time travel, or alternate universe travel, or whatever it is he intends to do -- you're a starship captain. You travel around saving people. I'm here to help you do that. Remember? You don't have to save me from you."

"All right, I understand."

She peered into his eyes, as if waiting for him to read messages on her retinas. "I love how much you want to make me happy. But if you do something for me, I want to make you happy also. So we are together in everything -- changes in career, or children, these are life-altering choices, I don't want them to put distance between us. I want changes like that to bring us closer."

"I'm glad we've had this discussion," he said, knowing full well that he'd been read, just as Greg had predicted.

She grinned, and stepped under the water, around the spray shield. "Come in here, lovely man."

As usual, he had a hard time being grumpy about anything, once she kissed him.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if one questions whether she could do something like this... just think for a few minutes about season seven, when she senses "echoes" from remains of a guy embedded in the wall of a warp engine. Dead guy. Remains. No brain activity, no brain in fact - but there are "echoes."

"Hey," Will exclaimed, as he entered the turbolift. "How are you doing? Haven't seen you in a couple of days."

Deanna smiled wearily at him. Today she'd opted for the gray pantsuit, and left her hair loose around her face, brushing it back from her face and putting in some combs that had been a gift from Jean-Luc. "It's been busy. I've been spending time with Mrs. Mannheim."

A sympathetic, somewhat irritable response from Will made her wonder. He huffed quietly and looked at the panel next to the door. "Deck eight. I'm surprised he's making you spend that much time with her."

"What?"

"She's an old flame of his or something, isn't she?"

Deanna rolled her eyes. "She's a passenger, until we drop them off at the starbase. She's been through a lot." In fact, Jenice was clinically depressed -- being stuck alone most of the day every day while her husband worked and ignored her, for years, would do that to anyone.

"I admire your dedication to the work, but isn't there another counselor aboard?"

"Have I somehow given you the impression that I'm upset about her presence?"

Will shrugged. "Okay, if you're fine with it, great. I was just trying to be supportive."

"Of whom?" Deanna sighed heavily. When the lift opened, they stepped out in tandem. "I wasn't upset with Galia at all you know, even when you were playing around with her when we were engaged." He'd made some big assumptions about what she would tolerate back then.

"I thought we weren't going there," he grumbled, angry now.

"You'll go there when it's Jenice. Arguably, Galia is much more recent and less understandable to me. What Jenice is to him, is what you are to me. Expecting me to avoid her would be expecting him to avoid you. Why would anyone expect that?"

"I'm not sure I'm liking the way you've changed lately."

She slowed to a halt in front of her door, and looked him in the eye. They faced off for a bit while he worked through whatever thoughts he had on that, and felt indignation, which dwindled to frustration. He relented at last, his posture loosening, his weight shifting to his right foot and his crossed arms losing their grip on his chest.

"I'm Betazoid. I set it aside on duty but it's been pointed out to me that I can be myself with my friends," she said, matter of fact and calm. "Maybe the fact that I haven't been is part of the problem right now. You've gotten used to my not being forthright with you. Will, I like her. Of course I like her. She's likable. She's married to someone else, and Jean-Luc is with me, and they're still quite fond of each other -- I know exactly how he feels about her and if you think I'm going to make an exception, not say anything and let him rekindle something with her, I'm going to have to conclude that you've become quite forgetful."

"Okay," he exclaimed, spreading his hands. "Okay. I'm sorry. I didn't really think about that. Of course you wouldn't. I was just concerned."

"I'm going to change for my karate class. Are you playing tonight?" The jazz ensemble was supposed to be in Ten Forward for a few hours after dinner.

Will waved his arm, gesturing vaguely. "No. I'm taking Randi -- Tom's going to do some solo work, show off his licks. He'll be great. Are you coming?"

"We might bring the Mannheims if they want to come. They've been isolated out here for a long time, I thought they might appreciate some live music."

Will smiled at her. There was an odd sort of pride in it. How quickly he could shift gears.

"Will?"

"Nothing. See you later, maybe. Have fun at karate -- say hi to Tasha for me." He rambled off toward his own quarters, letting her go in to change.

Deanna hurried through changing, and laid out the dress she planned to wear for dinner -- as she left the bedroom Jean-Luc came in, and he hesitated almost mid-stride to smile at her and like the way she looked in her white gi.

"I'll be back in an hour and a half," she said. "Are they still planning to come?"

"Yes. Though it took some effort to convince Paul to agree to stop organizing his things." It had taken a major effort to convince him to leave the facility locked down for a while, to return to the starbase and recruit another team. He'd conceded only after they helped him collect the sum of his research and notes and bring it along, so he could use the time to regroup and come up with a strategy to continue the work.

"You seem a little sad," she said, finally commenting on what she'd been sensing from him during the day.

"I know better. But the more I see of them, the more I think -- it was stupid of me, to limit myself to two options back then. When I decided to leave. At the time all I could think about were the things she said, all the dreams she had, she was so excited to be at the university and writing and traveling around Europe. I didn't think it was fair to even ask if she might come with me."

Deanna patted his bicep lightly. "Are you forgetting that spouses were not always welcome on starships? You were an ensign, as well. I doubt that tiny vessel you were on had the space for her."

He sighed. "I could have found a posting -- "

"Don't make me think you're going into business with Paul -- I'll tell him what you want to use time travel for, he'll have objections I'm sure."

He laughed, and took her head in his hands to kiss her -- a brief, intense expression of happiness. "Have fun in class."

She hurried, almost ran from the lift down the corridor to the gym, and made it in time to jump into her place in line for the warmups. The kicks and punches came naturally now, and her focus was on refinement these days, control, using the force she needed to do the movements without losing balance or focus. The practice of using her body as a weapon and putting her energy into movement was surprisingly rewarding. Initially she had thought self defense, but as she had advanced another belt, and another, she decided she enjoyed karate.

Tasha helped her while the class practiced the katas they were all learning, each belt rank working on a different version -- she followed along through the series of punches and lunges and kicks, and at the end, she bowed and thanked her instructor. Tasha gave her a smirk and nodded. "You're really doing great, Deanna. See you in a couple days for the next class?"

"Unless something comes up." Deanna glanced over to where Beverly, still a white belt, continued to work with one of the purple belts showing her how to improve her stance. "Everything all right?" She knew how it was going well enough but usually asked just the same.

Tasha's happy grin told anyone who cared to notice it how it was going. "We actually talked to Wes about combining quarters."

"How wonderful," Deanna said, gripping Tasha's arm happily. "We should throw a housewarming party for you."

"I don't know about that," Tasha exclaimed. Parties made her nervous.

"Maybe just a celebratory game of poker? I'll talk to you later -- I need to shower and change for dinner. See you." Deanna turned to join the handful of students heading for the exit as class disbanded.

She was tearing the band out of her ponytail as she went back into their quarters, running her fingers through the sweaty curls of her hair, and found him in the bedroom with his safe open on the bed, some of the contents spilled out, and he sat holding a picture in his fingers. When she went to sit next to him, putting an arm across his shoulders, she was surprised to find him looking at a picture of a baby. 

"Who is this? Your nephew?" 

He turned it over to show her the back -- his name had been written there in elegant script. 

"Oh," she said with a smile, taking it from him to look more closely at the bald baby grinning toothlessly, sprawled on his stomach on a rumpled blue blanket. "What a beautiful baby you were."

"You can tell it was me anyway, the hair is the same," he said, waving his fingers at his scalp. 

She giggled at it and smiled down at the picture. "You're sitting here imagining having a child, aren't you? Thinking he might look like this?"

"Something Jenice said -- that Paul isn't paternal. It made me think about my own father. I remember what he was like and it occurred to me that the way he was with us some of the time wasn't paternal, either. He could be demanding and angry, not at all like I would imagine a father should be. Most of the time he was simply busy. Obsessing about wine. How much I would want to be different than that."

This sounded like it could be one of those longer conversations that sounded like a therapy session. "I thought you would be obsessing about what to wear for dinner. They're supposed to be here soon, you know," she said, handing the picture back to him. "Going to run through a sonic shower."

He started putting things back in the safe as she left the room. "I was actually looking for an old picture of Jenice," he said.

When she returned and started putting on underwear he was already out of the uniform and wearing slacks and a loosely-draped long sleeved shirt a few shades darker than the teal dress she had put out on the end of the bed. He watched her dress with appreciative interest, as he sat there on the corner of the bed, quite composed and contented. 

"Silver, I think," she said, poking through that drawer of her large jewelry box and lifting out a mass of twisted silver chain. She put on the choker and added matching earrings to her earlobes, then quickly put on a bit of makeup, two brushes of blue-green eyeshadow and a dusting of blusher on the cheeks, and turned to go to the closet. She glanced back at him to find he was still watching her intently. 

"Jenice said something about cream puffs, today, that made me think she has a sweet tooth. I thought we should have some decadent French dessert after dinner -- what do you suggest?" Deanna found the moderately-high-heeled silver sandals she was looking for, dragged them out of the bottom of the closet, and stepped into them.

"A brûlée, perhaps. She also loved crepes." He was not, she noticed, set off by talking about her any more. The ripples of angst had all settled out, and spending a little time with Jenice as she was now seemed to have sent the Jenice of the past, with all her emotional baggage, far away from his thoughts. 

"They're here," she announced, taking a step over to stand in front of him. The chime echoed through their quarters seconds later. 

But when he stood up, bringing them within inches of each other, he leaned in and kissed her -- took a few more seconds to run his hand down her hip, up her thigh, bunching the silk of her skirt. She made an amused sound and pulled away, patted his chest and turned to go out to greet their guests. 

Paul Mannheim was an unremarkable looking middle-aged human who seemed slightly older than he was. Deanna knew that he was eight years older than Jenice, from his bio. She'd spoken to him only briefly in sickbay while he'd been in distress, and Jenice had introduced her to him again the day before, when she'd stopped in to invite Jenice to have tea with herself and Beverly. So he wasn't surprised to see her when he came in, but he stopped in his tracks and stared -- so it must have been the change in her appearance at work. She smiled happily at him, in welcome.

"Would you like something to drink? Please come make yourselves comfortable," Deanna exclaimed. She gestured at the room at large expansively. She knew, as she pivoted, that her posture had changed -- something about being a hostess of a dinner party brought out the Fifth House in her, the way she'd been trained to hold herself during formal events when, as an older child, she'd been coached and then expected to follow along with her mother through the most tedious events with poise and a pleasant smile in place. She knew Jean-Luc noticed the difference in her. Jenice returned the fond smile, nodding approval.

"This dress suits you, Deanna," she said. "The jewel tones do seem to work well for you. I don't suppose you have any cabernet?"

"We do indeed," Jean-Luc said, leaping into action. He'd gotten three bottles of wine out of his storage.

The dinner was low key, quiet, and Deanna was good at tracking a conversation that she should listen to but was not necessarily interested in due to the subject matter. That knack was also a holdover from Mother's parties. At one point she turned from a subdued side conversation with Jenice to pay a little closer attention to what Paul was saying, as he and Jean-Luc had finally gotten to talking about his work again, instead of Jean-Luc fielding questions about Starfleet -- Jean-Luc had suggested that his work might be useful to Starfleet, and now Paul wanted to know in what way.

"Was the effect being produced intentional, or a byproduct of the experiment?" Jean-Luc asked.

"It wasn't precisely what I was attempting to do, but it was close. I wanted a look into the past, just a look. Not co-existence with the self. It would be the first step to being able to walk with ease from linear to non-linear time."

"It's an ambitious project," Deanna said. "I suppose I didn't realize that humans might be able to do that."

Paul looked at her with sudden intense shock that kept him speechless for a long moment. "Of course we can," he said at last. "There are incidents of time travel spanning the past two centuries -- why would we not be able to bridge the gap between non-linear and linear time."

"Did you think about whether or not it's a matter of perception? Because it is."

"Wait, what are you saying?"

Deanna smiled as she picked up her wine glass. "What you are doing here is altering the space-time continuum in ways that permit you to shift and transcend barriers that keep you in an experience of time that is linear. I can share that experience with you, or I can share the Betazoid experience of time, which has no barrier between the past or the present."

"You're saying that you experience the past -- not just remember it," Jean-Luc said dubiously.

"The way we experience the passage of time is not a function of time itself but of the way the brain of the individual perceives it. Dr. Mannheim was telling the doctor about how vivid things were, while the device was phasing through time -- the warp engines of any starship can do the same, change the way we move through time. But I don't experience changes in the way you describe, alterations to other senses, because my brain conforms to Betazoid structure. It's generally true that the human brain, when attempting to perceive things that are beyond its ability to process, does the best that it can -- hallucination, or confabulating information it knows to fill in the gaps of what it cannot understand, or disassociating -- that isn't necessarily true of the brains of other species."

She knew that most of his staff had been human. It was an interesting thing, how humans would sometimes fail to fully research and consider that the abilities of other species might enhance their work. Paul stared at her as if she had just suggested the universe might have been rewritten while he was gone.

"I made a full survey of all research extant before I started the project, years ago," he said. "There was a handful of projects based at the University of Betazed. None of them were particularly informative of the sort of work I'm trying to do."

"If you are attempting to replicate the behavior of the eye, mechanically, you might do an in-depth study of an eye. If you are working on time travel you might decide that manipulating the space-time continuum was where you needed to focus, without recognizing that it might be something that someone could see," Deanna said. Then smiled at that. "Not that 'see' is precisely the word -- it isn't a matter of sight. No word in Standard describes that sense. I can see how you have been focusing as you have -- all human experience with time travel has been in the context of starships, moving through space and time. There are rumors of doorways, gateways -- things like the Iconian gates of legend, that allowed the Iconians to move across the universe in moments. Betazoids don't claim to have the ability to travel. We merely sense the currents and eddies of the energy flowing through the universe."

"Show me something that describes what you are talking about."

"Paul," Jenice chided. "We're not here to talk about your work. Not like that."

"This is important," he insisted, gesturing with his hands. "Jenice, I need to understand this."

Deanna left the table and her mostly-eaten meal to get a padd, and brought up a diagram of Betazoid brain anatomy. She placed it in the center of the table and described the areas of the brain that controlled the various senses -- sight, hearing, taste, touch, proprioception, smell, temperature, acceleration -- things in common with humans. And then she moved on to telepathy, empathy, and the general sense of the larger energy of the universe, aka the space-time continuum. Jean-Luc was nearly as interested in it as Paul. Jenice watched it all with a general sense of amazement.

"This sounds ludicrous to me," Paul said, staring down at the image on the padd. "I'm sorry, but I've never heard anyone claim to feel the energy of the universe this way. Not to the extent of detecting time travel."

"I know. But I also know that we are traveling at warp six, and the universe allows us to move through it as if we are folding it and re-folding it around the ship so we don't need to crawl along for years to get to the starbase. It feels like swimming, to me. Like warm water on my skin." Deanna turned off the padd. "Would anyone care for dessert?"

"No, thank you," Jenice said. "Paul, I wish you hadn't started talking about your work. I was so looking forward to an evening with friends talking about what's been going on in the Federation, or maybe about what's happening on Earth specifically."

"I was thinking we could go to Ten Forward. The jazz ensemble is playing tonight. I thought it might be nice to have a drink and listen to some live music," Deanna said.

"Oh, that would be so nice," Jenice exclaimed, reaching to touch Paul's arm. "It would be like the clubs we would go to on Friday evenings when we lived in London -- Paul, remember how you enjoyed doing that?"

Though it didn't completely distract him, Paul was re-engaging enough with his wife to smile at that. "Then we'll take you up on that offer -- and I apologize for being so... swept away, Jenice. It's almost disappointing that I might have made more progress sooner, by having a more discerning team. Perhaps you would help me make contacts with your government to discuss possibly finding someone who would be interested in helping me with my project, Mrs. Picard?"

Deanna did a double-take at that, covered her surprise with a smile. "Of course. I'll recycle the dishes and we'll go."

Jean-Luc helped her, as Jenice spent a minute reminiscing with Paul excitedly about their time on Earth before they'd gone into space. He caught Deanna's shoulder before they turned back from the replicator. "You're sure you want to take them to Ten Forward?"

"They're our guests. I've spoken to Jenice enough to know that she missed going out that way," Deanna murmured. "I thought that we could take them, and then excuse ourselves and let them stay to enjoy it. Together."

"Hm, you seem to think this is important, is this the counselor's opinion or just yours?"

Deanna leaned to kiss him, just in front of his ear, and whispered, "Both. I'll make it worth your while, you anti-social lovely man."

He scowled at her for a moment, and turned to their guests. "Are we ready to go?"

Deanna didn't cling to Jean-Luc the way Jenice did to her husband in the corridors. She knew that the lounge was busy, but not to the point of being full. As they entered she led the way to the one empty table, at the back near the viewports, as most of the activity was closer to the corner where the band played -- the guitarist was indeed playing a solo as Will had predicted, as the band backed him up. She saw Will in an intense conversation of some kind with Randi at a table for two and immediately turned to smile at Jenice, inviting her to sit facing the band and taking the chair opposite the other couple. Jean-Luc didn't care about the band either, and waved over one of the servers to take their drink orders. Deanna took note of Data sitting with three lieutenants from operations and at another table, Beverly and Tasha were in an intimate huddle; Tasha had noticed them and was smiling over Beverly's shoulder at her.

The song in progress ended, people clapped, and then the band took a break. "That's timing," Jean-Luc commented.

"It's only the first set, they'll play for a while longer," Deanna commented, crossing her legs. Jean-Luc reached over and dropped his hand on her bare knee, without a thought; it was automatic and his fingers played down her kneecap gently, as he turned to look over his shoulder and then smiling across the table at their guests. Their drinks arrived not long after.

"It looks different in the evening," Jenice commented.

"Yes, they change the lighting, and there are more staff available -- one of the things they are trying to do to help officers on longer missions, providing spaces aboard starships that don't feel like they are on a starship," Deanna said. "Like the gymnasium, this is a place our crew can go to set aside their work for a while. It helps reduce depression and a feeling of isolation."

"You have a band aboard?" Paul asked.

"No, many of the crew play instruments. Some are artists, and others have other talents that they share with the larger community," Deanna explained. She raised an eyebrow at Jean-Luc and picked up her drink. "He was just saying the other day that he might want to take up painting -- one of the ops staff is starting an oil painting class, every other week in one of the forward conference rooms."

"You keep telling me I need a hobby," Jean-Luc said.

"I said you need a relaxing hobby -- you might have a dozen hobbies, but none of them are relaxing."

The drummer played a short riff, and the guitarist returned to pick up his instrument. Deanna sipped her drink and listened as the next song started, and Jenice told Paul that the song reminded her of a band she remembered. After another song came and went, Deanna appealed to Jean-Luc to go; as she predicted, Jenice wanted to stay and Paul humored her.

"I told you she would enjoy it," Deanna murmured as they went in the lift.

"You have a good instinct for such things."

"No, I've been talking to her for a couple of days. They don't have a holodeck at the facility. They don't have a band, or a place to take walks in the woods, or have dinner out with friends. I've been talking to her about how her insistence that she will be fine as long as she is with him may be commendable, but not realistic. It's not good for either of them to be so isolated. It's not healthy."

His hand, which had slid along her hips while she spoke and the lift carried them to deck eight, pulled her closer to him. "That's probably true."

"What are you thinking about?" His own thoughts were churning away intently at something.

"I was a lot like him, for a long time," he commented softly. "They call it a one track mind. Maybe the court-martial was a good thing, in the end. It shook me off my track."

"And?"

The lift opened, and they went down to their door, and inside, silently. "I'm glad we're together, Deanna," he said at last.

"Things will be better for her, you know. He does love her."

"Why won't you talk to me about having children?"

She finished pulling off the dress, dropped it on the foot of the bed, and started to unhook her bra. "I'd rather have the conversation when it isn't driven by some need to prove you're not neglecting me, or trying to be something you think you should be. When we're able to look at things from a more rational, less emotional perspective."

"That's fair, I suppose."

It was also a good way to get him to stop picking at it and finish getting ready for bed. She settled in next to him, and kissed him good-night. He would probably wake her early in the morning expecting sex, as per their usual schedule, so going to sleep a little early suited her.

"Computer, lights off."


	25. Chapter 25

The Mannheims took their leave at Starbase 329 -- Paul had departed with the renewed determination of a true zealot, and a list of contacts Deanna had given him. Jean-Luc was happy to see, however, that he was at least asking Jenice's opinion on things.

Prior to departing the starbase, Jean-Luc took some time to conduct a senior staff meeting, getting reports from all the department heads. The ship and its crew were, of course, all ship shape and back to normal. So he moved on to introduce the next mission. "Our next assignment will be Nordoff 352," he told the assembled senior staff. "Mr. Data?"

"A scout reported that the third planet in the system appears to have the ruins of an ancient civilization present. Since we have an archaeological department aboard we are being asked to complete a more thorough assessment and make recommendations to Starfleet for further study."

"Sounds like it lines up nicely with your interests, Captain," Will exclaimed. "Mr. LaForge, how long will it take to get there at warp six?"

"Four days, sir," Geordi answered.

"I've already forwarded along the initial report from the first survey to our staff," Jean-Luc said. "There will likely be plenty for the other departments to do -- xenobiology, geology, and even astrometrics will all come into play. Hopefully there will be very little for sickbay." He gave Beverly an apologetic smile.

"No offense taken, Captain, I'm more than happy to use the time to take inventory and update crew first aid certifications," Beverly said.

"The system doesn't appear to be in a location that makes it attractive to the Romulan Empire or any other entity," Tasha said, looking up from the padd she held.

"Which does not mean we can relax," Worf grumbled.

"Of course not, Mr. Worf. We should always expect the unexpected." Jean-Luc glanced around the table. Deanna had little to contribute during missions such as this one. The engineer, Avery, had nothing either, from the look of it. "If there's nothing else, you are all dismissed -- we have four days to have all departments ready for the mission."

Everyone stood, and those closest to the door led the way -- Jean-Luc hung back slightly, and as he went by Data turned to address him. "I wanted to thank you, sir, for mentioning the painting class -- I too will be participating. Lieutenant Meyers informed me that we will be starting with a simple still life. I am looking forward to it."

"As am I, Mr. Data. I'll see you tomorrow night in class."

Data moved on to the bridge, following Geordi out the door. Tasha wasn't far behind with Worf. Beverly drifted out the door next, and then it was just him and the counselor, as the door slid shut behind the doctor. She came to him, glancing out at the starbase hanging in space far below, and stood with her hands clasped in front of her.

"Something I can do for you, Counselor?" he asked, smiling, thinking about that morning lounging with her in bed.

"No, sir, I just wanted you to know that I don't have late appointments today -- I've changed my schedule. You can expect me to be home for dinner."

He nodded, quite happy to hear they would be going back to their usual quiet evenings. Not that it was terrible to spend time with Jenice and her husband, simply more company than he normally had, and while he knew part of Deanna's reason for inviting them over two nights in a row had more to do with concern for Jenice's mental health than anything else, it had become obvious to him that they were not going to be close friends. Paul was too obsessed with his project to have much interest in anything else, and Jenice was not the same young woman he remembered worshipping. Although he may have changed more than she.

"We should talk about some things," she added. "Especially if you have questions about me. I know there were things you didn't want to say, in front of them."

"It's concerning to me that I wasn't aware of a few things that you told Dr. Mannheim." His hand went out to her, touched her cheek, without his bidding. 

Her eyes glowed. "I love you, too. Maybe we can take a walk on the holodeck and talk about it. I'll see you later."

He watched her go, and stood there a few moments longer, gazing down at the starbase. A Nebula class ship had just arrived and took up a high orbit similar to the one the _Enterprise_ was in. Behind him the door opened again.

Will came to stand next to him, crossing his arms. "Everything all right?"

"Thinking about life, Number One. How odd it is, that one can explore the depths of space and run into people you believed you would never see again."

"I can see how it might be disconcerting -- not really a place I'd expect to see someone like her," Will said. 

"She always said she would live in Paris, or Marseilles. I never pictured her leaving Earth." Jean-Luc snorted at his own assumption. "I never would have expected to find her out here, or myself in the present circumstance."

Will hummed a little at that. "That's something many of us can say, surely. Beverly especially."

"I can safely say I never saw that coming."

Will chortled at that. "I think Tasha and Beverly didn't see it coming."

"I'm looking forward to seeing some history, for a change. It's been a while since I've been out on a dig. And we'll be the first ones in -- the survey verified a breathable atmosphere but didn't send anyone down to have a look."

Will leaned on the edge of the viewport then glanced at him. "I guess we'll see how Deanna takes to archaeology?"

"Indeed we will."

It became another one of those days that made him wonder if indeed it might be time for him to retire. He didn't care for the tedium of the logs, the status reports, and all the messages -- Admiral Golden had made another attempt to swindle him into the Admiralty Ball despite his failure to respond to the first one, and there were some others, reports from the Neutral Zone, another message from Lwaxana, that he left untouched. Though it was after all the agreement that they would take turns occasionally opening her mother's pleas, to see if she might have changed her mind. Reading the first line of text led to his deletion of the message. No such luck.

There were three meetings on his day's schedule, one lieutenant up for promotion, one ensign hoping for the same, and Wesley, who by now had gained confidence in approaching him. A welcome sign, given the boy's previous anxiety; it meant he was succeeding in making up for lost time with Jack's son. By the time Wes came into the ready room however, Jean-Luc had tired of everything Starfleet and really wanted to flee to his quarters. 

"Hello, sir," Wes said with a grin as he sat in the chair. Then the boy frowned. "Everything okay?"

"I'm sorry, I'm a bit tired," Jean-Luc confessed. "How are you doing? I haven't seen you in a week or so."

"I had this big project for history, but that's all done -- got an almost perfect score on it, too. And I started going to karate class."

"You mean Tasha's?"

Wes grinned again. "Yeah. Everyone likes that class, she's a good teacher. I figured if she's going to move in and be my stepmom, I might as well. She says I'm already better than Mom, but Mom says that's only because she's the ship's doctor and keeps having to run to sickbay instead of being in every class."

"Deanna is in her class as well, I believe."

"She's doing great, too," Wes said enthusiastically. "You should come watch sometime, she spars with some of the big guys and it's funny, they don't want to hit her and she gets mad at them."

The thought of that made him smile. "I know she's advanced a few belt ranks already."

"We're supposed to have a testing soon -- I'm working on getting a yellow belt. You could -- I mean, if you want to come watch, when I test, if you want to -- "

"If there's not a red alert at the time, certainly," he replied, putting the boy out of his misery. Wes beamed at him.

"Mom's supposed to do it too -- get a yellow belt, I mean. We're practicing sometimes outside class."

"Are you still working on special projects in engineering? Between that and karate and school, you seem to have quite a busy schedule."

They chatted on, about things Wes was doing, as they had done before. And then Wes gazed at him as if pondering something profound.

"Wes?"

He shrugged. "Just... never mind, sir."

"Oh, come now," Jean-Luc chided.

"It's just that -- " The boy floundered for a minute, mouth hanging open. "I guess I'm wondering, how is it that -- how do you know when you've met the right person? I mean, there's Mom, and then Mr. Riker has Lieutenant MacAvoy, and then Counselor Troi moved in with you which is not the same as getting married, but it seems almost as serious -- you wouldn't just move in with anyone, after all," Wes babbled. "And I asked Commander Riker and he gave me this -- not really a lecture, more like a rambling about the subject, which is what people do when they don't really want to answer the question."

This was normally the sort of question that sent him backpedaling away and deferring to the parent, or the supervisor, or the counselor. But that was the easy way out. He was, after all, supposed to be an uncle or mentor of sorts, if he continued to tell himself he was doing this for Jack. And it would probably be the sort of thing he'd face with his own children. It took little time to recognize that the discomfort of it would be something to overcome at some point.

"It isn't really a question with a set answer," he said. "And it's a question that I suspect we all ask ourselves over and over, through however many years we actually search for this mythical right person."

Wes considered that for a moment. "So you don't think the right person exists? That maybe we just decide we've met him or her, and decide it's right?"

"Fate, or destiny, or whatever you want to call it, is something we determine through the choices we make. Isn't it? If you go to the Academy, you meet specific people while you are there. If you go to a university, you meet a different set of people. Odds are good you will think one of them is the right person."

"But -- " Wes screwed up his face for a moment as he thought about it. "There are a thousand people aboard. Why was the counselor the right person instead of Guinan, or my mom, or Lieutenant Tassioni down in the airponics lab? You could have decided -- "

"Wes," he exclaimed. Then went on with less force, to take the sting out of it. "The other part of that is that it's a mutual decision. Also, there's the matter of... chemistry. There's more to it than you're assuming."

Wes grinned. "Okay. Thanks, Captain." That seemed a little too easy. Jean-Luc eyed the boy suspiciously; Wes fidgeted and asked to be excused. Once he was gone, it left Jean-Luc wondering.

He wondered all the way home, a couple of hours later, and found Deanna brushing out her hair at the dressing table, wearing his robe.

"What are you so bothered about this afternoon?" she asked.

"Wesley asked me the strangest question -- what possessed him to ask me, and not his mother...."

Deanna put down the brush and turned to look up at him. "What question?"

"How one knows when one has met the right person."

She looked as confused as he, though she was likely prettier about it. "Does he think he's met the right person?"

"He didn't say. I'll change -- do we want to eat while we're on the holodeck?"

"I wouldn't mind revisiting that restaurant in Paris, the one we went to that first night?"

He nodded, and while he selected a shirt he thought about things again -- the trajectory of the relationship had been unexpected and he'd taken very little time to be introspective about it. Pulling the shirt over his head, he turned and watched her stepping into a skirt. It was as she had said in the beginning, when he had questioned what normal would be like. It simply was as it was -- life went on, and they did normal things, only together.

She met his gaze, the corner of her mouth twitching. Amused. "You're being contemplative today. Are you having second thoughts about us?"

"No, not at all. I was thinking about how much easier it's been than I imagined. I had thought that having someone living with me would be more difficult after all the years of solitude. Maybe I've been overthinking it for all these years."

"Or I might have been someone who constantly brings home other people and throws parties. You wouldn't have appreciated that. You were also bothered by having the Mannheims here as much as they were." Deanna straightened her white blouse and picked up the hair brush again. "Or, perhaps, you might have adapted for the right person?"

"So the answer is that you find the right person by being the right person?"

Deanna laughed at him. "You're in a strange mood, aren't you?"

When they left their quarters, he smiled and put his hand on her back. "I suppose I'm still working through, evolving, as I was since I've come aboard. So what can you tell me that I don't know about you?"

"I'm not sure what you need to know. Does it make any difference to you that I have a different sense of time and space than you do?"

"I'm not certain what you mean when you say that. Do you see my past, or only your own?"

Deanna frowned and thought about it furiously for a few minutes. "I'm not sure I'm going to be able to explain this."

"Because the inferior human -- "

"Not at all," she scolded. "Because Standard doesn't help. Betazoid words don't always translate. You aren't inferior, simply different."

The lift opened, and as they left it they found themselves in the corridor with the ship's lacrosse team, apparently leaving a holodeck after a practice. A chorus of "good evening captain"s rose and fell around them as they made their way through the navigation hazard toward holodeck two, dodging padded limbs and bats. And then, as they started along the gentle curve of the corridor, here came three more people, Beverly, Tasha and Wesley. 

"Well, hello," Tasha exclaimed, grinning broadly. "On your way to somewhere nice?"

"Maybe," Deanna replied with the same lilt in her voice. "You appear to have been somewhere Victorian." They were dressed in period costumes -- Wesley in particular looked quite odd with leggings and a poofy shirt.

"Wes had a history assignment so we thought we might go walk the streets instead of just reading about it," Beverly said. "It doesn't look like you're heading in to a Dixon Hill scenario."

"No, it doesn't," Jean-Luc replied, giving Deanna a surreptitious push in the lower back.

"Have a good evening," Deanna said, moving along as directed. Jean-Luc followed her closely. They heard Tasha giggle as they headed into the holodeck.

Jean-Luc stopped at the panel just inside the door, as it closed behind them. He turned to look at Deanna then, and sidestepped to kiss her instead of doing anything to load a program. Having her in his arms did away with the anxiety of being laughed at. In fact, it did away with other concerns, and he could tell she appreciated it as well. She wasn't actively connecting with him, mind to mind, but she loved him and they shared that emotion.

"Paris?" she whispered against his lips. "Or mmm, somewhere else, maybe a simulation of that resort we were at?"

"Computer, load Picard 52-C," he murmured. When the simulation materialized around them they were standing on the balcony outside the restaurant he had taken her to, on their first date. She looked out over the lights of Paris at night, and leaned in against him while he held her close.

"Are you still wanting to talk about children?"

He started to laugh breathlessly at that. "Are you going to let me?"

"You didn't want them before."

"I didn't want anyone, before. I wanted you, and I still want you. Talking to Wesley reminds me of Jack, and how much Jack enjoyed being a father, even if he didn't get to be with them very often. And Greg, with his children. He's talking about retiring in the next five years or so, you heard him. He wants to spend more time with the kids." He expected her to comment that none of what he said was about him, but she could tell how he felt -- that thinking about it gave him an indescribable feeling, seated deep in his heart.

"I know that the _Enterprise_ is technically family friendly. But do you really want to have your children here?"

She wasn't questioning, or trying to postpone -- his arms clenched around her tightly and he struggled to speak for a moment. "We don't have to stay here if it becomes... I suppose it's impossible to predict what might happen, isn't it? Any given mission could end in destruction."

"I'm hungry," she murmured.

Which led to seating themselves at a table and ordering up drinks, and food. The balcony was illuminated by a soft yellow lamp centered on the wall over their table. It was easy to be distracted by eating dinner, so it startled him when she continued the previous conversation. "How many children do you want?"

"I don't know," he blurted. He hadn't even thought about it. "We could start with one...."

"I'm sure we would," she said, her eyes laughing. He watched her poke around at her food and take another bite -- she seemed deep in thought, not as interested in eating as she had been initially. "Have you ever held an infant?"

"Once."

"Wesley?" When he nodded, she smiled. "Were you uncomfortable with that?"

"I was afraid I would drop him, as asinine as it sounds."

"That's actually quite normal. He appears to have survived unscathed, however." Deanna put down her fork and reached for her wine glass. "You know... some would say you're approaching this out of sequence. You haven't even mentioned marriage."

He put down his own fork and sat for a moment staring at what was left of the steak. "I'm not sure why. Maybe I was too traumatized watching your mother try to force you to marry Wyatt Miller." He raised his eyes and found her gazing across the table at him, in the soft light. "I'm sorry, I appear to be sorely lacking in the usual niceties of romance."

Her smile grew, until she giggled softly and planted her chin in her hand. "We've set up housekeeping together as if we're married, after all. It's been that comfortable, I suppose, that neither one of us has cared to pretend to be dating, or doing any of the usual things humans will do in the early stages of a relationship."

"I did ask you to tell me if I wasn't doing something correctly, or wasn't doing enough -- do you want me to get back on schedule?"

She laughed again, shaking her head. "No need. But I think that children are something we need to be sure about, so I think we need to table that idea for now and spend some time talking and thinking about it. And I think exposing you to some real children for more than a few seconds might be good for you."

Although it caused him a dramatic uptick in anxiety, he sighed and nodded. "I know you're right -- but I also think I need to make up for my neglect."

"Oh, you don't need to do that," she chided gently. 

"Maybe not. Maybe I want to, because it will mean spending more time with you."

"Or time you would have spent with me anyway?"

"We could spend the time doing more enjoyable things than arguing about whether or not we should do them," he suggested with a smirk.

"If you insist," she said, grinning. "This is a nice enough place to be."

"Are you wanting dessert?"

Deanna stood up then, and stepped away from the table. "I do, but I think I'd like to arrange things a little differently first. Computer, give us a bench to sit on."

He stood and let her remove and rearrange until a comfortable bench facing the view was in place, and sat down with her with a dish of chocolate ice cream -- there were, he knew now, many variations of chocolate ice cream, and this one featured chunks of chocolate, walnuts and fudge syrup. He let her eat most of it, content to sit with his arm across her shoulders while she ate and occasionally offered him a spoonful. 

"I can't wait to see where you take me on these dates you think I deserve," she said, setting the dish aside when she was finished. 

"That sounds like teasing to me."

"It might be. But in the end location is less important to me than the company I keep. I'm sure I'll be fine no matter what we do. Even if all we do is argue about where we should go."

It occurred to him that he might be making one of those assumptions Greg had warned him about. "How do Betazoids do this? Is there a tradition of some sort, some expectation that certain things take place in a particular order? Is dating a purely human convention?"

Deanna started to laugh again, quietly. "I would have expected that question so much earlier than this. You'd have a lot of backtracking to do if you expected to do things the Betazoid way. Please don't, I would miss you."

"Miss me?"

"I wouldn't have moved in. Things move much more slowly with Betazoids. Jean-Luc, are you unhappy with the way things are?"

He shrugged. "Not at all. I'm curious -- perhaps I should have asked sooner. I know that it isn't going to be possible to backtrack.... Could you tell me what I'm missing?"

"Nothing at all. I'm beginning to wonder what I'm missing, however. I don't understand what you're trying to do."

He sniffed at his own folly. "Trying to understand more about your culture."

"I don't care about my own culture. I'm more interested in what works for the two of us. If I wanted to adhere to Betazoid expectations I would have done so." She rested her cheek on his shoulder. "I don't want to change anything right now."

"Then we'll keep it as it is," he murmured. He gazed down at the city lights and relaxed, felt her doing the same as she lay against him, and they enjoyed the view and each other's company in silence for a while.

 

\-----------------------

 

"Can I talk to you?"

Deanna looked up from her coffee at Tasha. "Isn't that what we're doing?" Late breakfast every couple of weeks with her friend had been a habit before, that they were trying to re-establish.

Tasha stared open-mouthed and groped for words. "I mean -- I'm trying to figure some things out. I'm doing okay, but -- "

"You worry that you'll make mistakes," she filled in.

Tasha glanced around Ten Forward as if someone was going to overhear. They were the only ones there, other than Guinan, at the moment. "Beverly doesn't tell me everything. I ask her what she wants me to do -- try to get clues about things she likes. I'm trying to figure out what to get her for her birthday. Why is this so hard?"

"Maybe she's one of those with different ideas about gifts and birthdays. Sometimes humans don't like celebrating their birthday. I'm surprised, though, that she's not willing to discuss it with you."

Tasha's frustration was evident. "She did, a little. I guess I -- maybe I don't know how to ask right. What would you say?"

It was amazing how anxiety could turn an otherwise functional adult into a teenager all over again. Deanna supposed that being in what amounted to a war zone, raising herself, not having the usual sort of childhood humans would ordinarily have, this had to be done sometime. "I would ask her what she wanted for her birthday. I might still ask her, since I'm not sure. Or maybe I'll try to surprise her -- get her something nice for the bath, or maybe replicate a print of a painting by an artist she admires."

"It's so easy for you."

"You're trying so hard, I can tell she's important to you -- you want to make a good impression. But if she feels the same way about you she'll appreciate anything you do, Tasha. Maybe that's what she's trying to tell you."

"What are you getting the captain for his birthday?"

Deanna sighed, almost rolled her eyes, and sipped her coffee. "Tasha."

"I bet something archaeological. He's been talking about that with Data, on the bridge. This next survey is exciting for him."

"You could get Beverly something for you to wear," Deanna said softly, suggestively, knowing the bright blush would be forthcoming.

When she recovered enough, Tasha laughed. "Only if you help me pick it out!"

"All right. It's a deal. I have time this afternoon between fourteen and sixteen hundred, we'll meet in my quarters, and we'll go through the computer database until we each find the appropriate negligee to give them for their birthdays. I have a good idea what would look great on you."

"All right," Tasha exclaimed with a happy grin. "Sure. Are we going to try some of them on?"

"Of course we will! Isn't that part of the fun?"

"Maybe you could help me pick some dresses too? For -- you know."

Deanna studied her friend with some fond amusement. "You said you never wear dresses."

"Well, she -- I tried one of hers on, she really liked me in it but the color's wrong, and -- I'm no good at this stuff, Deanna."

"That's all right. You can learn, just like everyone else. I'm glad to see you're getting along with Wesley, too, I have to admit I was a bit concerned about how he would take it but he really likes you."

"He's a great kid." There was a flicker of worry, underneath that smile.

"Are you concerned about him?"

Tasha's gaze fell, and she stopped poking at the last bit of the omelet she had lost interest in eating. "Maybe a bit concerned about being a stepparent. That's what Beverly says will happen, if we're moved in together."

"Are you feeling at all rushed, Tasha? It is moving a little faster than a lot of people would feel comfortable with."

"We've talked about it a lot, actually. About whether or not I really should move in, this fast. But there's been nothing -- we spend so much time together, and Wes is on board and he's actually excited about it. He keeps offering to help me carry everything over to their quarters."

"Everyone has their own sense of timing. I'd be concerned if you were feeling pressured or anxious about it."

Tasha shook her head. "I think I'm more anxious about the future than anything -- and like you say, about making mistakes. Beverly said she's a bit anxious but it's similar, more about what might happen than any reservations she has. And sometimes... I just sit here sometimes, thinking about how it all came out of drinking Romulan ale one evening with friends. I'm not sure I would have ever been brave enough otherwise."

"It's reassuring that you're not letting fear shut it all down." Deanna raised her head -- the computer sent a short tone through her comm badge. "There's my alarm. I need to go -- I have some appointments. I'll see you later."

Deanna made it through her handful of appointments without interruption, and as she finished up her notes she realized it was nearly time to meet Tasha. She headed for the bridge where Jean-Luc was putting in his time with the day's business. He had, she knew, met with a couple of crew and likely had been poring over the initial survey of Nordoff 352, preparing for the mission. When she was admitted she found him at his desk, as usual; he watched her approach with happy eyes.

"I have a request," she said, giving him a puckish smile. 

"Oh?" He leaned back in the chair and anticipatory anxiety spiraled to new highs. Hope, attraction -- was he actually thinking she might try something right there in the ready room? That led to thinking that maybe she could -- but she came up short against the fact that it was still technically the bridge, and they were both on duty. 

"I'm having Tasha over for a few hours, starting at fourteen hundred. She needs my help with something. It would probably be unsettling to have the captain around while we're doing it. Also, I'm going to be working on figuring out what to get you for your birthday, and I don't want you to spoil the surprise."

"Oh, I see. I should perhaps be elsewhere. I'll plan accordingly -- you'll give me the all clear, I hope?"

"Of course. You're a little confused?"

He shrugged. "My birthday is four months away. I generally don't celebrate it."

She grinned slyly. "Maybe I'll celebrate it every month? Maybe we should have a standing appointment here in the ready room -- I could come in at the end of alpha shift on one of these down days, when we're between missions, and start to take off my clothes on the way in."

"Maybe we should talk about this after dinner tonight," he said, trying to stop liking that idea too much.

"I'll see you later," she said, winking and turning to flee the room.

In her quarters, she got a padd and started by setting up a filter using her measurements. Tasha arrived early and joined her on the couch, while they went through image after image of skimpy lingerie with Tasha squirming at the sight of some of them. 

It took a lot of cajoling to get her to actually try one on. While she was lingering long in the bathroom, Deanna continued to shop through images. The annunciator went off. She dropped the padd -- she knew it was Will, and hurried to the door and out into the corridor. 

"You can't come in right now," she said, taking his arm and guiding him down the corridor. "I'm in the middle of something."

"I was actually wanting to ask if you wanted to join us, you and Jean-Luc I mean, on the holodeck tonight -- I'm putting together a poker game," he exclaimed. "What the hell are you doing in there? The captain is still on the bridge."

"I'm helping Tasha find a birthday present for Beverly, if you must know. So you need to go, and I need to get back in there and reassure her."

"Maybe I should help," Will exclaimed with a grin. 

Deanna shoved him and spun around to go back. "In your dreams. No, thank you. Don't you dare tell anyone, especially Beverly."

When she came in, Tasha nearly leaped into the air -- she was tense and self-conscious and jumpy as hell. "Sorry," Deanna said. "I was shooing away someone. Computer, please initiate the do not disturb. Tasha, that fits you well -- what do you think?"

It would have helped if the young woman would be a little more confident; standing awkwardly in the living room looking like she wanted to hide wasn't helping. She looked down at the lacy green bikini, blushing furiously. 

"Tasha," Deanna said, slightly scolding. "Maybe the problem is the company? Close your eyes. Imagine she's calling you into the bedroom and you can tell from the tone of her voice what she wants."

Tasha actually fluttered her arms and grabbed the sides of her head in dismay. But then she caught herself and took a deep breath, and tried -- closed her eyes. Deanna went silent and waited for her to work through it. But it didn't work; she grimaced and covered her face with her hands.

"Come on," Deanna said. "Computer -- replicate the green bikini in my size."

She grabbed the result from the replicator and guided Tasha into the bedroom with her hands on her shoulders, and stood her in front of the full length mirror she'd had installed on the wall next to the closet. "Wait here, I'll be right back."

When she returned from the bathroom she put her hands on her hips and sauntered up to her wide-eyed friend, still standing awkwardly in front of the mirror. "I don't look like you," she said.

"You do not have to look like me. Beverly doesn't feel any attraction to me. You are supposed to look like you, in a nice set of lacy underwear." Deanna posed and turned, looking at herself in the mirror. "It's a better look for you. Green really isn't my color."

Tasha was staring at her, and a subtle shift in her expression matched what Deanna sensed -- dismay, and then guilt, that she was looking at her friend with that much appreciation. 

"I'm going to get another one -- want to try something else?"

Deanna ignored the hell out of it. Tried on two more outfits -- settled on something in red, with a sheer netting that wrapped around her body over the brassiere and the scanty panties. Tasha went through the motions, tried on a few more sheer and lacy items, and slowly recovered from her self-induced guilt and apprehension. 

"I really think the blue one suits you best. Just the right balance between revealing and not, and the silk is perfect. Sequins aren't really you, you know?"

Tasha retreated into the bathroom and returned quickly in uniform, the small collection of lingerie in her hands. Her cheeks were still pink. "I'm sorry," she said softly.

"You shouldn't be sorry for being human. As flattering as it might be, you know that it goes nowhere -- it simply is what it is, Tasha, and you know better than to think either of us would let that kind of attraction be more than that. You realize, I hope, that there are things everyone feels that I never point out to them -- I don't call people out for feelings they never act on, or express in any way. And it wasn't the kind of attraction I'm looking for," Deanna said. 

Tasha blinked. "It wasn't?"

"You don't feel that way about Beverly. You do, but you feel more than that. You feel the kind of attraction that lovers feel for one another. I know that this," she waved at the negligee she wore, "will appeal to his eyes, but I know he feels so much more than that -- I don't have to dress up like this to get his attention. He'd love me if I didn't. But I know he will find this very appealing, in the other way, a very basic way that's still present regardless of the other."

Tasha nodded and looked down at the handful of skimpy things she held. She smiled, thinking about something.

"You'll walk in wearing it with the confidence of knowing you already have her love," Deanna said. "It isn't something you wear to compete. You already know she thinks you're sexy. This is nothing but icing on a very sweet cake, for her."

That put a dimple and a deeper blush on her cheek. Tasha shrugged uncomfortably. Deanna almost went on, about body image and confidence and such, but firmly insisted that Counselor Troi stay quiet. That her friend struggled with these issues was to be expected. Growing up impoverished and struggling to survive hadn't let Tasha develop on the same trajectory as other women her age. Sexuality hadn't been on the radar, for her. She'd been running from rape gangs, not learning how to feel pretty.

Deanna nodded at her reflection. "I'm looking forward to wearing this. I think I won't wait for his birthday. I think I'll just be here wearing it until he gets here."

That made Tasha grin. "Well, I guess I'll get the hell out of here, then. And -- I'm going to keep all of them. I think variety is good. Thanks, Deanna, for everything."

"Have fun."

Tasha practically ran out of the room. "Gonna wear the green one tonight," she called out as she left. 

Deanna laughed, and strolled over barefoot to the closet. There were red heels somewhere in the bottom. A quick twist and a hair band, and her hair cascaded down from the top of her head. She stepped in front of the mirror, gave a few twists and turns to survey the results, and thought about Jean-Luc. Smiled, rolled a hip, put her hand on it, tilted her head at her reflection and imagined his reaction.

She didn't get to do that for very long. She heard the door open, through the still-open bedroom door, and sensed rather than heard when he reached a place where he could look in and see her there -- his anticipation had been a reaction to what she had projected to him, and then he was shocked. She turned to find him wide-eyed and frozen in place, almost mid-stride.

"I decided today should be your birthday," she said, spinning on the ball of her left foot. The wrap floated up and resettled around her dramatically.

"Oh," he managed. 

"What do you think?"

He approached slowly, taking the time to appreciate it fully. "It's not your usual."

"But it has your attention." She waited, hands on her hips. "You have a nice way of showing your appreciation."

"I really don't care for these uniforms," he muttered, as he touched the sheer wrap tentatively -- his hand found the side of her breast, and became less tentative. His erection was obvious through the black uniform pants. "Is there anything else planned or do I get to unwrap my birthday present?"

"I didn't have time to work on a floor show. I could improvise."

His sly smile was enticing her to respond in kind. Then he became a little alarmed. "Not sure I'll be able to keep a straight face around Beverly, knowing what she's getting for her birthday."

"Today's her birthday too, so I don't think that would ruin the surprise."

He laughed at it, caressed down her side through the wrap. "I've been thinking about what we discussed last night, on the holodeck. You were right. We'll be fine, doing our own thing. It's what I've always done, failing to conform -- it appears we're equally good at failing to meet expectations of others."

Deanna winced a little at it. "I was coming to the conclusion that I wasn't being exactly fair, not answering your questions. I should tell you whatever you want to know about Betazoid culture and how much, or how little, I want to conform to that. It isn't as though you would force me to do anything I didn't want to do."

He leaned in, grazing his lips down her throat. There was that charge of animal attraction from him. She tipped her head to the right, exposing more of her neck for his attentions. "Let's talk later," he murmured against her collarbone before sliding up to nip her neck.

"As you wish." Her arms went around his neck, and she let him nudge her along toward the bed, swaying, and as she came to rest on her back and watched him start to tear off his uniform, she closed her eyes and slipped into his mind fully.

This time, the merging felt effortless, and they were beyond happy -- the incredible elation in being together that way almost subsumed the sexual tension, took them somewhere beyond the physical realm into their own universe. This time, she didn't avoid thinking about things she'd been avoiding. The nature of space-time, the way she could feel the galaxy sliding along the skin of their starship as it flew through the vast spaces between the stars. The way she could feel his past while he talked about it -- not just how he felt about it, but the weight of it, the influence it had on him, the very currents of space-time as he passed through it on his journey from birth to death. The way all of Betazed and the minds of its people surrounded her when she was at home -- the ebb and flow of emotions that were similar, but not quite like, human emotions. The methodical way most Betazoids existed in the universe mostly in harmony with it. With the exception of the few who were somehow that much different that they stood out in the great consciousness of Betazed like flares in the night -- people like Tam Elbrun, telepathic from early in the womb and permanently warped away from total harmony with the rest of the population as a result of being unable to develop individuality first and join the greater world mind gradually on schedule. People like her mother, histrionic and flighty, demanding that the rest of them engage with her on her terms, not anyone else's, not even the gentle tides of the _se_ could lull her into anything resembling compliance and cooperation. The _se_ being the vast weighty sense of all, it reminded Jean-Luc of the sea, as it was pronounced nearly the same, and also the etymology of the word in Old English and other European tongues meant something very similar to the word in Betazoid -- a great body of something, on Earth usually water.

She floated back up into her body, and caressed his head, running her fingers along his hair and down his neck. They were sprawled together and he'd come to rest with his head resting on her chest, above her breasts, his cheek balanced neatly in the center on her sternum. He had taken off the uniform, and partially removed her wrap.

"I love you, Jean-Luc," she murmured. Her voice sounded rough, as if she hadn't used it in years.

"I'll never understand why."

She frowned. He lay atop her limply, almost a dead weight, and as she brought her hand up and stroked his face she felt moisture -- he was feeling overwhelmed, sad, happy... guilty. He was thinking about how old he was, how young she was, they were still connected well enough that she could tell. So she sent both her hands up to rest on his back, and pressed him down against her.

"Haven't you learned anything? Love doesn't need a why."

He huffed silently -- she felt the puff of air along her collarbone -- and started to recover. "I'm only human. Have mercy."

"Rest for a bit. We're fine."

"Mmm." Another sigh, and some of the tension left his body.

She smiled and closed her eyes, and thought about everything. How solid, warm, and loving he was. Even his insecurities were based in love; he was worried about her, thinking that he wouldn't be able to make her happy. There were echoes and eddies of the past implicit in that insecurity. She could tell there had been times that he might have fallen for someone, only to have her somehow turn on him or show herself to be not exactly as he'd thought, leading to his questioning his own judgment in matters of love. In turn she thought about how different this was for her, how much more connected she felt and how that led her to decide that the details most people worried about were irrelevant. She didn't care whether they married or not, or when they would have children. She wanted to be with him, wherever he was, and everything else could be secondary.

Which he didn't like. The thought that he might become an impediment to her career bothered him.

"Idiot," she said with a sigh. "You can't be an impediment to a career I no longer want, because I've found something I want more."

After a moment of trying to argue with it, he grunted and stopped thinking about that. They still felt as though they were floating, a bit. She left herself open, so when she started to feel a little uncomfortable, he shifted his weight to alleviate the problem. And they both started to feel hungry. When he inquired, the computer told them it was nearly twenty hundred hours.

"That long?" He sat up, and the slow separation began -- soon they would be back to that basic connection of surface emotions that they maintained on a day to day basis. His concern led him to ask about the ship's status, and he relaxed again as the computer reassured him the _Enterprise_ was still en route to Nordoff, and there wasn't some crisis in progress that he'd missed while being so lost in their own little world.

"I'll replicate us something to eat," she said, sliding and inching over to the edge of the bed and rising to head for the closet. She tended to be cold in normal ambient temperatures aboard the ship while in a state of undress.

"As long as you understand I'm taking that off again soon," he said, watching her shrug into a thick white robe.

"Food first, lovely man. You need your energy after all. I expect to use this lingerie to excite animal passions in you so you'll throw me across the table amongst the dishes and take me as you've never done before."

That, she could tell, triggered some of that excitement he'd had when she had approached him in the ready room. She led the way out to obtain sustenance, and to consider suggesting that a holodeck simulation of the ready room might be in order. But she decided to hold that in reserve.

Though he sat with her and ate calmly enough, it was like sitting with a poised predator. When she collected the dishes afterward and took them to the slot, no sooner did she tip them in than he was behind her and pulling off the robe, letting it fall to the floor, and it became obvious that he'd dropped the rest of his uniform on the way to pounce. His arms tightened around her, her back against his bare chest, and he was already hard and ready -- she could feel the erection against her buttocks. But he was hesitating.

"I won't let you hurt me," she murmured, moving against him in a provocative manner -- pushing her hips back and tipping them forward, shoving her hands against the wall.

Suddenly he lifted her up, carried her back to the table, and then he was tearing at the wrap, peeling it away and then tearing the panties that were really more a suggestion than underwear -- his fingers slithered along, discovering that this was as exciting for her as it was for him, and then he was inside her. She found herself pushing her palms against the table in front of her, bent forward and panting while he held her by the hips and went wild and hard. She found herself bracing harder on her elbows and turning her toes in to keep herself there while he growled and thrust away. He pulled out suddenly. She almost lost her balance, but he turned her about as she stood upright and lifted her just enough to perch her there on the edge of the table and slide back in, and it was almost too much -- she threw her head back and wrapped her legs around him, balancing slightly backward to give him full access. She could feel his testicles as he reached full penetration. He began anew, but slowly and deliberately, in and out, wanting and burning but enjoying her as fully as possible.

The sliding and the delicious way he filled her repeatedly were almost too much to bear. Deanna leaned back on her elbows and arched her back, contracting around him, thrusting back, and he responded with a harder thrust as if she were trying him to the edge of patience. The war began. She pushed, he pushed, and then he dragged her a few inches until she wasn't able to shove with her hips without sliding off the table.

She started to giggle. It was a lopsided, uneven attempt but enough to lead to his withdrawal. He surprised her by picking her up bodily, carrying her to the couch, and putting her on the floor -- surprised, she let him pose her kneeling and facing the end of the couch, and then he was on her again, sliding in from behind and sending one hand around and down her hip to find her clit. She had the first orgasm with the first fingering as he thrust home, and he stayed there while she laughed and shuddered around him. Some sloppy thrusting and playing his fingers around while his other hand found the nipple on her left breast got her to come again a bit later. After a third she started to move herself, turning to face him and giving him a long, lavish kiss -- she leaned back against the couch while it went on, and took him in once more, shifting downward in increments until she was on her back on the floor and encouraging him with long, low moans to please, please, please continue the languid thrusts in spite of the chafing on her back. Then he started again to move harder and faster, and she encouraged it with a smile, meeting him with thrusts of her hips. He cried out when he came, stiffened, and fell into that momentary state of stupor while she clung to him.

As he came back to himself, she hummed and held on longer to his sweaty body.

"This calls for a bath," he murmured.

"I think so."

His knees hurt a little. Some of the skin on her back stung. She thought she might have banged an elbow against something. But she didn't care, and he didn't care -- he got up slowly, gave her a hand up off the floor, and kissed her back when she came in to kiss him.

"There are more than four thousand different patterns of lingerie in the computer database," she said, leading him by the hand toward the bathroom.

"I may not survive more than a dozen of those," he said. "But I think I'm willing to take that chance."

 


	26. Chapter 26

Deanna looked out the viewport at the planet below, standing there in Ten Forward alone. Many of the crew were on the planet's surface, including half the senior staff. She crossed her arms and sighed.

"Want some more tea?" Guinan asked softly as she came up alongside. Today she wore a brilliant green hat and robe.

"No thank you."

"I guess archaeology isn't going to be a favorite pastime for you."

Deanna snorted at that. "Not on worlds where everyone died a violent death, anyway."

"Ah," Guinan said softly. "I thought there might be something like that."

"You can sense it too?"

Guinan tilted her head and tucked her hands in her sleeves. "I can tell something big happened. Maybe not as well as you."

"I don't mind staying aboard, really. I regret what happened because now he's not really focusing on the dig like he would have."

"He's worried about you."

"Somewhat. But when we beamed down, he was so happy -- talking about all the things the first away team uncovered, and it was obvious he was looking forward to having me to share it with. Then we reached the field where they were finding artifacts and bones, and the headache started."

Guinan turned at the sound of the door. "Hello, Commander," she said, as Will approached them.

"Hi, Guinan." He came to stand on Deanna's left, crossing his arms as well. Guinan wandered off and left them there as a few more people arrived. Will seemed to be waiting for her to speak; when she didn't he looked at her. "You all right?"

"Yes, of course. Now that I'm not sensing the thousands of screaming, dying people burning to death."

"Never been to any ruins, I guess?"

"The ones I've visited were never the burial grounds for everyone decimated in a war. With other worlds, the emotions of the living can mostly obscure the past, and there aren't usually mass killings of thousands of people. Even on Earth -- with all the wars over the centuries they still don't manage to measure up to the collective pain of a world like this one, where the populace was destroyed from orbit." She gestured vaguely in the general direction of a derelict satellite she knew was out there in a decaying orbit.

"At least he's enjoying himself. Right?"

Deanna shrugged at that. "Why aren't you going down? It really is a beautiful world. The forest slowly taking over the ruined city we were visiting makes it quite picturesque. And there are beautiful birds -- like parrots. They sing in flocks, it's fascinating."

"Maybe tomorrow. At the rate we're going, we'll be here a few weeks. Plenty of time." He hummed a little, bounced on his heels. "I'm glad to see everything's still going well."

"Very well." She paused, considering. He wasn't experiencing any of the ire he'd had before, and had nothing but the platonic feelings she would expect from a friend. "We've been talking about children."

That got his attention -- his head turned, and he grinned down at her, amusement sparking in his eyes. "You have? I wouldn't have expected that."

"I didn't."

"It's only been a few months. Not what I'd have guessed -- I know he made a snap decision at the start but I'd think he'd be one of those steady, patient ones."

"Most of the time. Greg said that Jean-Luc has good intuition, and he's only gotten sharper -- he's making decisions based on gut feelings."

"I can tell." Will hummed for a bit. "When do you suppose your mother's going to show up?"

"Oh," she said with a great sigh. "I suppose it depends on how long it takes her to find an admiral she can badger into giving away the ship's location."

"You're a brave soul, Deanna Troi."

"Stop it."

"It took a lot to tell her off. She's not going to just let you get away with that."

Deanna scowled and shook her head, and went back to staring at the planet, hovering green and tan with white streaks of clouds swirling around it. "I don't care what she does. I won't let her ruin this for me."

"Seems to me he's not the only one making decisions based on feelings."

"If I had a client with a mother like her, I would support that decision to cut ties with her, if only temporarily -- I just can't let her stifle me the way she's always done. I'm an adult, she needs to respect my decisions more than she does."

"Okay, fair enough. I guess I'm not one to talk, I haven't heard from my dad in months."

"He's coming back," she said, as she sensed his presence suddenly much closer than before. The transporter room was just half a deck away.

"My dad?" Will exclaimed, concerned.

"Jean-Luc. He just beamed up. Tasha is with him."

He regarded her with a skeptical raised eyebrow. "Do you keep track of all of us that way?"

"Not always."

"I didn't think he would be back until the sun set on the dig."

And then it became obvious why he'd returned. He arrived in Ten Forward, coming to stand with them at the viewport.

"Everything all right?" she asked. Though she knew it was. He felt some anxiety, but his preoccupation didn't have a sense of urgency that he would have if something had gone awry with the mission.

"Yes, of course," he said. "How are you?"

"I still have a little head pain, like an echo of it. But much better. You didn't have to beam up -- I'm fine."

He gazed at her, then touched her arm. "Come with me?"

Deanna shot a look at Will, and turned to go with Jean-Luc, who further surprised her by walking beside her and as they left Ten Forward he put his hand firmly in the small of her back. "Jean-Luc?" she questioned softly.

"I can't really sustain any great interest in the dig. I kept thinking about you -- you're sure everything's all right, there wasn't any damage?"

Seeing her in pain that way must have traumatized him. He was having trouble believing that everything had improved that quickly, after the screaming and near-catatonia in the wake of walking into the centuries-old site of the destruction of a civilization. "That's what Beverly said. No damage."

"It's just -- "

"Jean-Luc," she chided. "You came with me to sickbay. I'm fine."

They entered the lift and rode to deck eight along with a lieutenant, who got off with them but immediately turned the other direction down the corridor. He walked her to their quarters. Once inside, he started to take off the very dusty uniform he wore.

"I'm sorry that I wasn't able to stay and help," she said, following him into the bedroom.

"No need. I really think that..." He turned, dropping the uniform shirt on the floor, and gazed at her for a moment.

"You're feeling determined and yet you seem to be questioning something."

"It was looking at the buildings, the ones that have been there for centuries, covered in moss and leaves. That city -- thousands of people, millions, and they're all gone. Banks found some records that Data and the linguist, Sing, are starting to translate. It was a holocaust. These people were annihilated, this world went from a magnificent artistic civilization to rubble in just a few days, and it doesn't appear that they even had sufficient technology to understand space travel. Fire from the sky, and confusion, and terror, and then nothing -- just as you described."

She nodded, unsure of where he was headed with this rumination.

"I still believe in exploration and working toward the future of the Federation. But I can't help thinking about...." He came to her, taking her hands, suddenly speechless.

"You know better than this," she murmured.

"I'm not saying anything will happen, Deanna. Just that it can, at any time, and I don't want to miss anything. I -- " He met her gaze at last, and took her head in his hands, kissed her forehead.

"It didn't hurt me. I'm not going to die of sensed emotions," she exclaimed. All that about the ruins and the civilization they didn't even have a name for had been a smokescreen. He was afraid after seeing her in such pain. He didn't want to see her suffer and die. Perhaps this was what it was all about -- he'd seen his best friend die in the line of duty, then been court-martialed, then spent months at a loss and wandering, his sense of purpose wavering. Then she'd come along and it was re-activating that sense of impending disaster -- that wonderful symptom of post traumatic stress, the feeling that something bad was going to happen any time, that hypervigilance that kept him anxious.

He wrapped his arms around her and held her. She returned the embrace patiently, held him and waited. No use trying to reason him into talking about this with Dr. Michetti just yet. He had to settle down first.

"I love you," she murmured against his cheek, kissing him.

"I don't know if I can do this," he whispered. "Watching you die in my arms, before. And then this -- one second you were walking through the ruins with us, the next you're screaming as if the gates of hell opened and pulled you in, and there was _nothing_ I could do. Nothing!"

She had nothing to say to that. Closing her eyes, she leaned on him and waited, hoping he would calm himself. After a few minutes she gave in. "Can we go to the holodeck? Let's go walk in the redwoods. Or -- a beach, on Risa. Please?"

He went with her, and she suspected that if she had asked him to take her back to Earth he would have done so without hesitation. Deanna walked with him on the beach and let it be. When he was calm again she hoped she could get him to agree to really engaging in treatment, and decided to offer to go with him if that's what it would take.

 


	27. Chapter 27

"Thank you," Tasha exclaimed as Deanna joined her in the turbolift. It was the first time they'd been alone together since their impromptu negligee shopping spree. Her cheeks flushed, Tasha practically bounced with excitement.

"Bridge," Deanna said, setting the car in motion. "I take it she loved it?"

Tasha rolled her eyes and radiated remembered emotions from the experience. "I didn't realize -- you have any other tips you just let me know. Hey, how did he like the one you had?"

"I'd say it was a strong enough endorsement that I should plan to replicate others on a regular basis," Deanna said with a sly grin.

"You have to help me find some dresses," Tasha exclaimed. "Please?"

"I have a meeting with the captain and the first officer, about some performance reviews and possible promotions, and then I'm heading to my office for a few appointments. But this afternoon, since neither of us is very busy with everyone else digging up artifacts... holodeck four at fourteen hundred?"

Tasha clapped and bounced. "Great, thank you!"

"You should invite Beverly."

That led to a dropped chin and a stare. "But what about surprising her?"

"Sometimes surprises are fun, sometimes it's about building expectations, sometimes it's fun to be on a journey together," Deanna said. She leaned and bumped hips with Tasha, and took a step forward as the door opened.

The security officer straightened up and sobered the minute her boot hit the bridge, and Deanna whisked down the ramp and shot a look at Will, who stood up.

"Let's go," he said, and gestured at Lieutenant Stebbins at ops. "Lieutenant, I'll be in the ready room with the captain and the counselor for about an hour, if you need anything."

"Sir."

As they went in, Jean-Luc came from the replicator and put a full tea service on the table in front of the sofa. They arranged themselves as usual, Will sitting in the comfortable chair, Jean-Luc on the sofa next to him at a right angle, and Deanna took the other half of the sofa. She smoothed the gray skirt over her knees, leaned forward to get a cup, and held it for Jean-Luc to pour her some tea.

"We missed you at poker last night," Will said.

Jean-Luc exchanged a look with Deanna -- he tried very hard not to think about what they'd done in detail, but the smile was a good hint of how difficult it was. "So when is the next game?" he asked, turning back to his first officer.

"Since we're on one of those easy missions, I figured next Tuesday late afternoon or evening."

"We might be able to work that in."

"Work it in? What kind of schedule -- " Will must have recognized that wouldn't go anywhere. He cleared his throat and picked up his tea, saluted them with the cup. "So we're here to discuss promotions."

"You suggested Lieutenant Yar," Jean-Luc said. He was, in one sentence, back to business and everything else set aside.

"I did, because she's been consistently improving. She's professional and steady, and always on point."

The captain nodded in agreement. "I've noticed as well. She appears to have the security department well in hand."

"She's got them on an ambitious training schedule, has high expectations -- morale has been good in security." Will took a sip of his tea. He didn't care for it, but he never refused the captain's tea.

Jean-Luc turned back to Deanna. "Your opinion, Counselor?"

"Dr. Michetti evaluated her as scheduled, three months ago, and found nothing of concern," she said. "It would be worth noting that there is potential for her to be distracted by personal... entanglements. But she maintains her high standard on duty. She's very disciplined. That's been a constant, all the way back to her time at the Academy."

Will nodded, but Jean-Luc turned his head, looked at her, knowing she was holding back something. They locked eyes for a moment. She held her ground. But Will noticed the brief battle of wills, and silently questioned them with his eyes.

"Anything else?" Will asked after a brief silence.

"I think if there are opportunities for Tasha to participate in more diplomatic endeavors she would appreciate that," Deanna put in. "I know she hopes to learn more about how to successfully mediate, or arbitrate. She has a lot of potential."

"And?" Jean-Luc prompted at last. So he wasn't letting her get away with it.

"There will always be a point where a psychologist has to decide whether to push or to say nothing, with clients who have significant history of trauma. Symptoms can be present but sub-clinical, not significant enough to impair the client's daily functioning. Lieutenant Yar had counseling in her time at the Academy, sufficient that she has done very well in her courses and in her career, as a security officer aboard the _Yorktown_. She's done well here also. She isn't and never will be my client, but I do encourage her as a friend to talk to Dr. Michetti, because I think she would be able to avoid problems in the future -- unpredictable, whether they become a more emergent issue, but I know she has symptoms now."

Both men regarded her with solemn concern. "You haven't mentioned this before," Will said.

"I wouldn't have mentioned it at all, but the captain noticed that I was not completely forthcoming. Because I have a close friendship with her, and this is in that realm -- this concern is for symptoms that affect her personal relationships more than the professional. They don't affect her duty at all. I am worried about her, as I have worried about you, both of you, when I've seen symptoms of your own pasts in the present -- but it doesn't affect your performance on duty." She hesitated, looking down at her own hands, clasped together in her lap.

"Symptoms," Will half-asked.

"I'm not going to talk about specifics -- that's not my job. You can talk to Dr. Michetti."

"You know I'm going to ask anyway," Jean-Luc said.

"This isn't appropriate," she exclaimed, scolding. "This is not the place. I am not going to diagnose either of you."

"What symptoms?"

Will watched them with raised eyebrows, sitting up straighter and ready to flee.

Jean-Luc stared, intent and quite serious about the question.

"Don't order me to do something I can't do," she exclaimed.

"I'm asking you to tell me whether there is some issue of mine interfering with my work," he insisted. "That's something I expect the senior officers to do -- share their concerns, if they believe my judgment has been compromised."

"I can't say that."

He sighed audibly, and put his cup on the tray next to the tea pot. "Counselor."

"I can't say it because you were not required to be on the planet, yesterday. You were observing, not participating. Indulging in your hobby. You weren't required as a participant in this mission. Therefore nothing that happened yesterday interfered -- you weren't missed when the heightened anxiety brought you back aboard. It didn't impact work you didn't have."

Will started to laugh, incredulous. "Deanna, what the hell are you talking about? From what he said you were -- "

"He brought me to sickbay," she exclaimed angrily. "He listened to the doctor clear me of any real problem -- she gave me something for a headache. He knew I was fine, which was why he went back down. But then he wasn't able to focus, and he came back to the ship. Anxiety that I will be injured in the line of duty -- not worry, but hypervigilance, which is a distinctly different and intrusive kind of anxiety that can impair judgment. It was there after I was declared to be free of any injury. There was really no reason for that level of concern."

"Why didn't you talk to me about this?"

She glared at him, and paused -- took the opportunity to breathe and be calmer when she responded. "I was going to talk to you after Will left the room." She didn't finish by saying 'and not last night when we were naked in the sheets.' He could fill that in if he had to. This was related to duty, they hadn't been even close to on duty until this morning.

He didn't like it, but he gave it some consideration just the same. "You're telling me that you want me to talk to Michetti about this."

"The ship's counselor probably would want that, and I'd suppose you would be angry at her if she neglected to say something about it if it were any other member of the crew."

Jean-Luc contemplated, appearing to be engrossed in a study of the tea service. Will was now worried, leaning forward and balancing his elbows on his knees, as if anticipating they might start fighting in front of him.

"All right," Jean-Luc said quietly.

Will sat back and blinked at the captain.

"I'll go talk to her today."

Deanna had to try not to cry -- he didn't want to, she knew. He didn't like counseling and he didn't want to talk to Michetti. But he had capitulated and he was being honest, in his intent to follow through. "You will?"

"You're afraid, on my behalf. You've said it before -- that I would be better for it if I really engaged in treatment, if I finally worked through -- you're right that my reaction yesterday was more extreme than it needed to be. And waiting until it has an effect on some mission seems foolhardy, if it's obvious there is something there to be dealt with. So I'll go talk to her."

"Okay," she said, with a wavering smile. "Okay."

"You can come with me. At least once. I assume she needs to know the extent of the symptoms and I'm not really sure how to talk about them."

"Oh," she said softly, amazed. He seemed determined to startle her, and kept one-upping himself.

"I'm going to tell Tasha as well."

"You are? Jean-Luc," she exclaimed, wanting to touch him -- Will's presence kept her hands in her lap. "Why?"

"Because she is a promising officer, and a stubborn one. Stubborn as I was, obviously. I know some of what she's been through, as she's told me -- she has more tragedy in her life than I, from an earlier age. I'm going to encourage her to get the help sooner rather than later."

Deanna did touch him then -- put her hand on his shoulder, ran it down his arm until she gripped his wrist. But he moved his arm, and took her hand. She froze and looked at his face, stunned by this behavior from him.

"Mostly I want to do this because I don't intend to take any risks that I don't have to take, with you," he said with a smile. "I need to have my head on straight, so to speak."

"So are we promoting Yar?" Will said, finally reacting to the discomfort he felt by redirecting the conversation. The further from the captain that Jean-Luc was being, the more Will wanted to escape.

"Yes, we are," Jean-Luc said, his tone shifting back to captain from the softer, warmer manner he'd had just seconds before. "Who else is on the list?"

"Ensign Tristan," Will announced, glancing down at his padd.

The conversation stayed on topic from there. Will's gaze traveled occasionally to their hands -- Jean-Luc didn't insist on holding her hand and let go of it occasionally as he refilled his cup and settled back to sip tea, but he always re-established contact, reaching over to take her hand again. After a routine discussion of the two ensigns on the list, Will took his leave of them and departed the ready room.

"He's upset because if he doesn't engage in counseling himself, he knows I'll question that," Jean-Luc said.

"You think so? He wasn't comfortable watching you hold my hand, either."

"You've told me, and him, that he should have counseling. One of the inconvenient things about leading by example," he said, leaning back on the sofa. "Are there other symptoms you're concerned about?"

She moaned, almost laughing at it. "You can be such an unpredictable and amazing man, Jean-Luc."

"I'm just thinking ahead. My ship's counselor thinks I need it, and you want to consider having children with a man who refuses to listen to the ship's counselor? I didn't think so."

She did laugh at that. "I love you already, you don't have to try so hard."

He gestured with his hand as if throwing the topic away. "If I didn't do the best that I could, why try? Let's see if Dr. Michetti has an opening."

In fact, she had free time immediately, and Deanna went to her office with him to find Alia watching them seat themselves in front of her desk with wide eyes. The nervousness was predictable. Deanna smiled apologetically as she settled in the chair, glanced at Jean-Luc, and sighed quietly.

"What can I do for you, Captain?" Alia said.

"It's not been easy for me to engage in counseling," he began. "But I wanted to tell you that will change."

"So you brought my supervisor along to witness the event?"

He turned to gape at Deanna.

"No, not at all," Deanna said. "He brought me along to help describe to you what he intends to work on in counseling, because he tends to struggle with putting it into words. This isn't couples therapy, either. Weird, yes. That's Starfleet."

Jean-Luc tugged his uniform straight as if getting down to business. "She says that I experience hypervigilance."

And so it began. The most awkward session she had been in, at least since Worf's last one. Deanna was surprised to find that Alia was nearly as uncomfortable as he was. He endured and looked to her too often to fill in details. Finally she started to shake her head at it. He waved a finger at her.

"Not helping."

"She wants to help you. You're acting like you're on trial." Deanna thought about that. "The court martial must have been devastating for a man accustomed to giving orders and -- " 

"I am not being triggered by questions, I don't like talking about myself."

She crossed her arms and gave him a disdainful look.

"Really?"

"Jean-Luc. Do you want me to leave?"

"Not at all. I want you to--"

 It was clear he had been about to speak without forethought-- he stopped short and struggled with what to say next. Alia raised a slender eyebrow at them. Deanna looked at him out of the corner of her eye and waited.

"Marry me," he finished at last, quietly.

" _What?"_ She was on her feet before she thought about it. "You did not just propose in the middle of a counseling session!"

"Not as though I wanted to," he muttered, slumping and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Not as though there was a choice. Lying goes nowhere with you."

Alia laughed at it, as if she couldn't help herself; her shoulders shook and her hand went to her mouth.

"You think this is funny, wait til I tell you about the rest of -- Deanna," he said, leaning and looking over his shoulder. She paced in the tiny space behind the chairs angrily. 

"You did not do that!"

"Okay -- we'll just set that aside and pretend -- " 

"I can't believe you did that!"

"Oh, well, there might have been a mistake -- I actually said something else." 

Deanna leaned on the back of the chair she'd been sitting in. "Like what?"

"Something else -- " He snapped his fingers. "I said I wanted to carry you."

He smirked and felt a twisted sort of resignation to the situation-- she exhaled and let it go, hung her head, started to chuckle with him. Alia was smiling, amused and nodding at them.

"Of course because you're always right, I can't disagree," Deanna said. 

"I hate to end this informative and productive session, but I have someone else coming soon," Alia said. 

"Tomorrow then -- my schedule is open," Jean-luc said rising to go.

Deanna led the way out and he walked behind her, still cringing a little inside.

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

"I know you didn't mean to, Jean-Luc. I was shocked, and a bit embarrassed."

"Guess I should make the real one twice as romantic to make up for it?"

Deanna slowed and leaned against the wall of the corridor just shy of the lift. "I don't expect anything, honestly. I love you, and the way we are is fine."

"So you don't want to marry me?"

She pressed her forehead against the wall. "I can't believe this."

But he wasn't amused, and so she turned to look at him. He waited, starting to feel anxious. 

"Are you seriously asking me right now?"

"It's not as though I can really walk it back."

She smiled, rolling her eyes. "You know I will."

"I'm glad to hear -- can I interest you in lunch?"

"In the ready room?"

"Paris."

Deanna loved him, let it shine in her smile. "Let me reschedule an appointment."

"See you in the holodeck." He marched off -- she stood at the door of her office and watched him stiffen up as he went in the lift. Once he was out of sight, she fell back and leaned against the wall, moaning, covering her eyes with her palms.

"Everything okay?"

She opened her eyes again to find Alia had come out of her office, and approached slowly out of concern.

"I'm sure you have spontaneous outbursts in your office all the time," Deanna said with a sigh, lounging against the wall.

Alia smiled at that. "Yes, but that was a first -- I've never had a proposal. You're all right, the two of you I mean?"

"Oh, yes. It wasn't as though it was entirely unexpected. I simply didn't think he would pop out with it in the middle of awkwardly trying to talk to you about events in his life that haunt him."

"I'm getting the impression that you are the reason he's suddenly so motivated." Alia seemed a bit melancholy. "I don't think I've ever met anyone quite like him."

"Yes, that's been my opinion as well. For a number of reasons."

"I was going to let you know that my appointment canceled, as he decided to join the expedition on the planet's surface today. Apparently the captain encouraged even the crew who are not in sciences to assist. It gives them useful experience to round out the Starfleet experience." She was directly quoting the memo the captain had sent to everyone.

Deanna laughed at that. "Of course. Why don't you come in for a moment? I was about to cancel my own appointment -- after that I'm not sure I would be of much use to anyone."

Alia followed her into her office, and waited while Deanna sent off a brief message. Deanna replicated both of them cups of tea and sat on her lavender sofa with her only staff member. Alia stared at her steaming cup. "I only wanted to make sure everything was all right."

"It is. I know that was difficult."

"No more than usual." Alia waved a hand. "You know I've had minimal luck with him."

"You should call him by his name, not his rank. It would help him stop being so formal."

Alia rolled her eyes. "He scowls at me."

"Let him. That's just the way he is. He'll relax if you do, Alia."

She snorted ungracefully and sipped her tea. "He doesn't scowl at you."

"He does, but less than before, it's true."

Alia had that strange little smile that said she wasn't certain she wanted to speak her thoughts out loud.

"I think you'll do fine with him now," Deanna said.

"I'm sure I will." Alia put the cup on the table and reached over to put her hand on Deanna's arm. "He's different when you're there."

From the way she felt as she said it, Alia was understating. Deanna set aside her cup as well and leaned with her head in her hand, weary of this sort of thing. "I don't understand."

"He's much more relaxed when you're with him. I'm wondering if you have ever seen him be as formal as he can be."

"I think I have. But I have to wonder if the real difference is that I can tell it's not all he is. You'll want to ask him about that, perhaps."

Alia laughed aloud, one of the rare times Deanna had heard her do so. "Okay. I'm going to get some lunch, you want to come?"

"No, I have a date in Paris I need to get to."

"Maybe he's going to propose?"

"Again?" Deanna held up her hands in the universal gesture of giving up on it all. "I'll see you later, Alia."

They parted in the corridor, Alia heading back to her office and Deanna heading for the lift -- she smiled as she rode alone to deck eight. Changing from the modest dress she wore into something more appropriate sounded like a good idea.

"Crusher to Troi," came the usual interruption.

"Troi here -- what can I do for you?" Deanna stepped out of the lift and hesitated in the corridor.

"I've been told I was invited to a little party this afternoon -- do you want me to bring something for the occasion? Our captain isn't the only one around with a stash."

"Oh, I think that would be great, Beverly. I'm glad things are going so well for you and Tasha, by the way." She started moving again toward her quarters. Beverly was in hers, she thought, judging from what she sensed. "Is everything all right?"

"Do you have a minute?"

"I'm just going to quarters to change -- if you want to stop in."

Beverly arrived just as she left the bedroom. She sat on the end of the couch and put on her shoes, under the doctor's startled stare. Unlike her, Beverly was still in uniform though she had left her blue lab coat somewhere.

"I'm interrupting, then."

"What's wrong, Beverly?"

"Nothing's wrong. You're going to tell me I'm anxious and predicting things I can't predict."

Deanna sat up from tightening the heel strap on her left sandal and looked up at her friend dubiously. "Because you are, or because you know me that well?"

"Are you going to hate me if I say I think it has to do with the age difference?" Beverly paced back and forth a little, arms crossed.

"Tasha also has the issue of not having been raised in a safe and normal environment, by any standard set by any culture," Deanna pointed out. She rose and glanced down at herself -- the dark pink silk was tailored to fit her, a dress that she had picked up on Benicia prior to being assigned to the _Enterprise_. "I'm aware of how she worries that she isn't adequate. She wants very much to make the relationship work, however." None of that was surprising. She suspected it might be a source of frustration for Beverly, as well.

"I guess I'm starting to feel... old."

"I'd be flattered," Deanna said with a smile. "Have you had that conversation yet, about past relationships?"

"Well... I told her about Jack. A couple of others -- I was pretty single minded about medical school, and the Academy. And Caldos isn't exactly the hot spot of the galaxy -- not much of a dating scene there." Beverly pursed her lips. "She hasn't really mentioned anyone other than this guy she knew, in her second year as a cadet."

"Then she's told you enough to let you know you're her first love. Hasn't she?"

"Oh my god," Beverly exclaimed, letting her head tip back -- she wandered in a lopsided circle and started to shake her head.

"She's not telling you everything? Beverly, I'm sorry," Deanna exclaimed. "That means she's really trying to do this right. She's being careful."

"I don't know if this is the right thing to do, but I don't know who else I could talk to -- I don't know if -- Deanna, she came in wearing that outfit and -- "

"Beverly?"

"I really don't need her to prove anything to me," Beverly exclaimed, hugging herself tightly.

Deanna nodded and cocked her head thoughtfully. "What if she's trying to prove something to herself?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Beverly, she didn't start to ask me to help her find nice things to wear until she fell for you. She's never showed any interest in being feminine. She didn't start to think about having someone in her life until she kissed you. Maybe she needs to believe that she can be the kind of person who has an intimate relationship with someone like you, and she thinks that's going to mean changing a lot of things."

"Oh." Beverly's brows drew together as she considered that. "Maybe you're right. Do you think she knows that's what it's about?"

"She might have a sense of it."

Beverly blinked and stared at her with new interest. "And I have to wonder if you've got your own bundle of anxiety working his way through a similar sort of issue?"

Deanna humphed quietly. "I know he came in to see you for something to help him feel less inadequate. And I know well enough he's doing a lot of thinking -- he's talking about children, and he accidentally proposed to me today."

"Oh my," she gasped, her chin dropping, staring at her with raised eyebrows. "How do you accidentally propose to someone?"

"Well, that's an interesting story, in itself. Maybe I'll tell you later while we're trying on sexy dresses if you bring enough of whatever you're going to bring to get me drunk enough. At the moment I have a lovely man waiting for me on a balcony overlooking Paris, so I'll see you around fourteen hundred on holodeck four."

"Paris? Really?" Beverly smirked at that. "I can't wait -- going to get that Romulan Ale that I don't officially have on ice. See you in a few hours."

Deanna smiled at that and hurried off for the holodeck, with Beverly walking the other direction toward her quarters. Jean-Luc was starting to feel impatient; he'd been aware that she'd been detained twice, knew that she'd been talking to people, and now that she was on the way he started to feel better. When she strode into the holodeck she emerged where she guessed she would be -- on the same balcony, their balcony, with the bench instead of the tables and chairs. He'd changed into her favorite of his sweaters, a soft variegated knit in browns and dark greens. He waited, sitting on the bench and looking up at her.

"What are we having for lunch?" she asked, sitting next to him as he put his arm around her shoulders.

"Whatever you want."

"I thought I would let you choose something for me, from the menu of French cuisine. Expose me to more of your culture." She looked at his face, as she sat there at his side. "What is it?"

"I go back and forth, you know. Vacillate between this state of being -- this joy, that I have with you, when I feel like nothing can go wrong and there's no question about the future -- and thinking that something will happen. But I've never been with anyone like you, haven't had anything like this before, and I think if you weren't able to connect with me the way you do I might have been unable to manage."

She nodded, looking down at her toenails, which she had painted dark red a couple of days ago. "I know."

"But it isn't just about feelings. I know that -- it's why I've been thinking about asking you to marry me."

"So you'll feel more secure?" She gazed at him steadily.

"Perhaps it would. But it's more than that. It's what Greg was saying, when he was telling us about deciding to marry Senna."

"He said he'd decided to do that about four weeks after he met her, and then took six months to propose. Is that what you did?"

Jean-Luc hung his head and kept smiling ruefully. "Not exactly. I think I decided around the time you moved in. It's just taking me a while to argue that with my idiot self that keeps reminding me of all the things that have gone wrong in my life."

"If you want to be married we can do that."

He quietly waged an internal war for a few moments. "I'm sorry that I keep struggling when you say things like that -- it sounds like ambivalence to me, and when it comes to this sort of thing...."

"I have a different sense of time than you do," she murmured. "This stopped feeling transitional or temporary for me some time ago. What I feel right now is what I will feel next week, and last week, and I won't stop feeling it unless there is a conscious decision to separate. I love you -- I have loved you and I will love you, and I want no one other than you. I'm not going to feel any differently if we marry or we don't. I know that it's different for humans. I'll respect whatever tradition you need to follow, if it makes you happy."

"This is what Greg tried to warn me about," Jean-Luc muttered with a huff.

"The difference between Betazoid weddings and human ceremonies is that we celebrate something that has already happened, and you consider it to be the beginning of something new and different. We see it as an acknowledgement of what's already established. A celebration of permanence."

"Then when you were engaged before...."

Deanna sighed heavily. Her stomach warbled. It led to his asking the computer for food, and a small table materialized at his right with everything he asked for; they ate finger foods, appetizers, and indulged in a light wine that complemented the fruit and cheeses.

"The lieutenant that I became engaged to," she began, distinguishing him carefully from the man currently on the bridge, "was idealistic and full of assumptions. I was an immature half Betazoid -- less empathic, less careful, more enamored of my perceived power and influence that I held mainly because of my mother and my ancestors -- my grandfather was incredibly well respected, and he spoiled my mother thoroughly and later he spoiled me. I was convinced of my importance long before I'd done anything worthy of respect. And Will was refreshing, in a way, not expecting or respecting any of the archaic traditions that I hated and not taking the time to understand what makes a Betazoid wedding any different than any other. He saw the entire thing as being just like the wedding he would have on Earth, with some woman he might have met in his home town. I didn't explain anything and I didn't understand enough to do a decent job of it if I had tried -- the outcome was terrible. And so I am doing as you have, in my way. Not wanting to talk to you because it brings up the ghosts of my own traumatic experience with planning a wedding."

"So you don't want to plan another one?" He fed her a slice of apple and a bite of cheese. "If everything we've said is true, and your mother isn't allowed to be a decider, we'll be fine and it will go without a hitch."

Deanna laughed at it and let her cheek rest on his shoulder. "You want a wedding."

Something going on in his thoughts was causing an excitement that she could distinguish from other times he'd been anticipating something -- it wasn't the same as how he'd felt talking about the dig on the planet below, it wasn't the same as the excitement he'd had when she showed off the negligee, nor was it the same as the joy and anticipation of having her move in with him. Something sentimental that ran deep was at the bottom of this. He put aside the wine glass and brought his right arm across to pull her against him and kiss the top of her head.

"I showed you the pictures," he murmured. Immediately she recalled the one of his parents, and the other wedding photo of his brother and sister-in-law.

"You want that kind of wedding?" How could she have missed that he was such a sentimental man at heart?

"A small one. Just a few people. You, in a dress -- I would love to see you in something, lace and pearls and a veil...."

"Mm. Maybe you would like to see a preview of my program."

It startled him, abruptly shifting the eddies of the emotions his fantasy had been generating, but she'd had enough of that to know that this would make him very happy and thus she would have to make it a priority to set that in motion. Deanna handed him her nearly-empty wine glass and stood up; he put the glass with his on the table and stood up as well.

"Computer, load program Troi 4, shopping spree."

The Eiffel and the Paris landscape dematerialized and then they were standing in a large room with a white floor. In the center was a round platform with broad steps up to it. A line of chairs stood behind them; she touched his shoulder and guided him down into one. She took off her pink dress, getting his rapt attention, and then put on a simple white ankle-length garment that lay draped across one of the chairs.

"I'm going to be using this later to help a friend find some nice dresses to wear, but it'll work for this as well. Watch this." She walked up the steps to the platform. "Computer, mirrors."

A half-circle of full length mirrors appeared on the edge of the broad platform.

"Computer, access clothing database -- specifically human wedding attire, female, European, traditional. Begin."

The plain gown she wore morphed into something quite similar to what she had seen his mother wearing in the wedding picture in his album. When the fabric shifted it tightened around her waist and the neckline dropped; a string of pearls appeared at her throat. A pedestal appeared before her with a veil on it; she picked it up and settled it in her hair carefully.

"You designed a program specifically for trying on clothes," he exclaimed, finally recovering from the shock.

"Of course I did. The holodeck is perfect for it. What do you think?" She turned in place, and the train spiraled around her, tugging on the skirt.

He was sitting straight in the chair and staring up at her in awe. "Incredible," he sighed.

"Computer, next dress." When the dress changed it became a sheath instead of a full gown, a thigh-high slit up the left side and a keyhole back suddenly exposing most of the skin down her spine. She walked in a small circle, studying her reflection. "Next dress." Another gown, with a square neckline. She shook her head. "Next dress."

The fourth dress brought him to his feet. It wasn't as full as the first had been but it was a gown, with a short train, with a low back and a plunging neckline, long sleeves, seed pearls sewn into the brocaded pattern of the bodice. She walked slowly around and looked over her shoulder at the mirrors.

"You like this one," she said.

"Deanna...."

"Computer, save this pattern with a bookmark for later. Would you like to see what I would wear for you if you were to take me to a party?"

"I would," he said quietly.

"Computer -- new filter. Betazoid party dress, female, modern. Something suitable for dancing. Show me the first dress."

It was barely a dress, by human standards at least. Short skirt with a ragged hem, in a glittering deep blue. Her legs were coated in a matching layer of what appeared to be tights, but she knew would be edible paint. She turned in front of him. His mood had changed -- he wasn't so attracted to this.

She spent time shifting through different fashions, Betazoid and Terran, until she had a better idea of his preferences. Saved the ones he reacted to more strongly. He stood and walked around the platform as she modeled a brilliant red satin strapless with black fishnet stockings. The next one was a better one -- she agreed with his taste on the spectrum of red to pale pink, the pinks were better for her than the deeper reds, and red with orange tones was not so suitable as red with blue undertones.

"May I?" he asked as she held out the skirt of the mauve gown.

"Of course."

He proceeded to call out a series of instructions that resulted in her wearing a sky blue sheath, ankle-length, sleeveless and with sweeping lines from the right shoulder down across the chest. "This?" she asked, as he stepped up to stand on the platform with her.

"This," he said, putting his hands on her hips and leaning in to kiss her.

She pulled away enough to murmur, "You're watching us in the mirrors, aren't you?"

"Mm hmm."

"You didn't say anything about -- "

He kissed her again, cutting her off, and before long they were turning slowly in place. She had put her arms around his waist almost automatically.

"Marry me," he whispered, holding her close.

"Oh," she gasped. "What a surprise. I wasn't expecting this!"

Jean-Luc stood back from her and put his hands on her shoulders. Scowling.

"That scolding look," she said, grinning. "Thank you. That means people can call me Mrs. Picard, after the wedding?"

"Mannheim called you that already. You didn't correct him."

"Because it's as correct for me as it will ever be."

He laughed at it, swaying in to hold her again and pressing his face against her hair. "Of course."

"I'm going to throw you out of the holodeck shortly."

"Oh, yes, the friend who wants to shop? Tasha, I suppose."

Deanna chuckled. "I guess you wouldn't believe Beverly needed my help."

"No." He ran his hand down her back, a fingertip following the hem of the dress. "I don't suppose you're going to be choosing more of that lingerie? Because I might need to supervise."

"Jean-Luc."

"Although I suppose you're right... I enjoy surprises just as well."

"And I doubt Beverly or Tasha will want your opinion."

He stood back once more, then retreated down the steps. The thought of that clearly had no appeal. "Cancel program," Deanna said, and everything including her dress vanished. She went over and picked up her dress from the grid to pull it back on.

"I suppose I'll take Will up on the offer for a game of velocity. Then go wait for you to come home and model the things you decided to keep."

She smiled at him, her eyes flicking down and up again. "What a good husband you will make."

"If you are already Mrs. Picard then why am I not your husband?"

"It's your tradition, not mine."

He nodded. "So if I were to adapt -- "

"You'd be Mr. Troi. But I told you, I'm not wanting to adhere to Betazoid culture."

Jean-Luc tucked his arm around her waist as they headed for the door. "So be it. Shall I escort you home?"

"You shall. I'll delete a few more messages from Mother and talk to Senna. I should tell her I'm finally engaged."

"Finally?!"

"You're so easy to tease. We should work on that."

 


	28. Chapter 28

It was interesting, being in the room with both of them, while Beverly tried to be enthusiastic and Tasha was trying so very, very hard to put aside her fear and awkwardness about the dresses she tried on. Beverly expressed genuine appreciation where she felt it but it was obvious she was finding Tasha's anxiety troublesome. Tasha would ask for feedback, and Deanna would make suggestions, then have to tell the computer to put them in effect -- at long last Deanna sighed, and rose from the chair in which she sat to walk up the steps and join Tasha on the round platform in front of the mirrors.

"Beverly likes the dress on you," Deanna said. "Do you like it?"

"I think so. I don't know." She waved her hands, slapping her thighs in frustration.

"You remember what you told me when I was having difficulty with the kata?"

Tasha turned from staring at her reflection in the mirrors -- she wore a sheath in a dramatic shade of bronze, with green tones that flattered her athletic figure and small breasts. "What did I say?"

"That attitude was going to be part of what makes the kata successful," Deanna said. "That your attitude determines how well you execute the moves. Same with sparring, and nearly everything else you've done. Same with this."

Tasha turned to look in the mirror in front of her, and shifted her posture. Put a hand on her hip, straightened her back and pulled her shoulders straight, and smiled.

"There. Wasn't so hard. Now it's perfect." Deanna glanced at her own reflection -- the dress she'd last tried on, the sheer green over a gold sheath, looked all right. "Computer, show me bookmarked dress four." Her dress morphed into the black and white formal gown and the black heels she wore complemented it nicely. She ran her hands down her sides and hips, turning to and fro in front of the mirror.

"Very nice," Beverly exclaimed from the chairs. She still wore a brilliant cerulean dress that both her companions had heartily approved as a party outfit. "What else do you have bookmarked?"

"It's really too bad we don't have occasions to dress up," Tasha said, gamely trying to be more enthusiastic than anxious.

"There might be an occasion," Deanna said. "We could always create one. Just throw a formal party, for fun."

"Computer, show next bookmark for Deanna Troi," Beverly sang out.

The dress changed, and as it was the fourth of four, the computer took the initiative and looped -- to the wedding dress that Jean-Luc had liked so much. Beverly leaped to her feet and gasped audibly, which brought Tasha to nearly the same level of shock -- she stared at the dress open-mouthed.

"There _might be an occasion?_?" Beverly exclaimed. "What happened to Betazoids don't wear clothes at weddings?"

"Computer -- "

"Hold it, right there," Beverly shouted, thwarting Deanna's attempt. She came up the steps and ran a hand down the sheer netting of the sleeve, traced a little of the brocaded fleur de lis on the back of Deanna's hand. "This is a classic wedding gown traditional style -- this is all for him. You're planning a wedding."

Deanna gave her a disdainful 'aren't you so smart' look. "Why wouldn't we?"

" _The captain_  chose this?" Tasha whispered, her face lighting up with delight. 

"Bridesmaids gowns, that's what we need," Beverly exclaimed, grabbing Tasha's arm, and they were finally united in enthusiasm, no longer struggling with the stress of trying on dresses in front of each other with tentative hope that the other would truly appreciate them -- Deanna rolled her eyes, and gave in. It wasn't as though they would be wasting the effort, she reasoned. And it quickly demonstrated the challenge at hand -- what dress would truly flatter both a redhead and a platinum blonde, and be in colors that the bride liked? 

Four attempts and much excited discussion later, they were modeling metallic green outfits with similar sleeves to the wedding gown, the fleur de lis on the backs of the hands and the slightly-puffed sleeve caps on the shoulders, when the computer chimed an incoming transmission. 

"Picard to Troi," came the captain's voice. 

"Troi here," she said, managing to sound relatively normal despite the way her friends were grinning at her, still standing there in the wedding dress. They had been, from time to time, modifying it with suggestions, changes to the neckline and the bodice, making the veil longer or shorter. At the moment it felt tighter than it should be.

"My apologies for interrupting. I'd like to see you in my ready room."

That was a subtle difference in wording, from his usual, and Deanna wondered if the others had noticed. "I'm on my way. Troi out."

"He'd _like to see you_ ," Tasha echoed gleefully. Of course she'd noticed.

"Computer, cancel my dress," Deanna said, and the wedding gown vanished, leaving her in the strapless brassiere and white bikini panty. She headed down the steps to the chairs, where her pantsuit and boots waited for her. She noticed as she dressed that his emotions were not his usual day to day business mode -- in fact, the more she focused, the less convinced she was that this was an official matter at all.

"Will you come back?" Tasha asked.

"Probably not, you ladies are on your own, feel free to have fun with the program and save a copy for yourself if you like," Deanna exclaimed with a smile. "You might look at that dress in other colors, maybe all the different shades of blue. And don't tell anyone about the engagement."

It took walking out of the holodeck toward the lift for her to really triangulate and have a sense of where Jean-Luc really was, and then it was plain that he was up to something. He was on the same deck. In holodeck two, no less. 

And so she altered course, smiling at that wily old man and his mischief making, her anticipation rising at the thought of what he might have in store. He could tell she had caught on and felt his own satisfaction and anticipation at that, and so as she entered holodeck two they were both in a high state of expectation. The arch vanished as the door closed, leaving her on the bridge just outside the ready room door. An empty bridge, no less. She tapped the panel.

The door opened, and as she had done hundreds of times now, she strode into the ready room to face Captain Picard. He was seated at his desk and watched her come in -- somehow, he had shifted his mood and become that rigid and formal officer she remembered so well, and she responded in kind. Put on the polite smile and came to attention.

"What can I do for you, Captain?"

"Have a seat, Counselor."

She did so, and folded her hands loosely in her lap. And waited patiently for whatever game he was going to play with her. This day was full of surprises, he seemed to be determined to keep her guessing.

"I wanted to discuss something with you," he attempted gamely. 

"All right. Or you could just look at me in silence. I would be fine either way."

He almost lost it -- guffawed, rubbed his forehead, but recovered his composure somewhat. "As an empath you are aware of the feelings of others, but I was curious to know if you might be aware of mine."

She almost started to laugh out loud. Instead, she blinked ever so slowly, and tilted her head slightly. "If I admitted that I was, does it change anything?"

"It might. Especially if you told me you felt the same."

"Perhaps you should be specific -- you do have many emotions, after all, and I would hardly want to inform you that I also loathe Bolian food and be completely off the point."

His pained look of long-suffering angst was her reward. She did laugh, just a little, at that. 

"Maybe I should go out and try again, come back?"

"Maybe I am terrible at this," he muttered.

"I'm not sure what you mean, Captain," she said, almost pitch-perfect professional. 

Jean-Luc brought his eyes up to meet hers, and they hovered there for a minute in suspense. A slight smile tipped up the corner of his mouth. "To the point... if you sense that my feelings for you are... not professional. In fact, more... intimate in nature. Perhaps even carnal. If I were to give you permission to respond to that, in whatever fashion you choose. What would you do?"

She bit back the flip response, which perhaps might not break the moment if he weren't so intently pursuing this -- he was indeed trying to prove something to himself, she thought, though likely he was also trying to determine whether this game was as appealing as he thought it might be. 

Chewing on her lower lip briefly, she leaned forward a little. "Perhaps you should consider simply giving me permission and finding out."

He stared, his eyes widening slightly. "You have my permission," he said quietly.

Deanna stood up slowly from the chair. His anticipation had that familiar quality to it. She watched him as she came around the end of his desk, watched the way he turned the chair in anticipation of her approach.

He was almost disappointed when she sidled in to lean against the edge of the desk. She looked down at him and held out her hands; he took them, and when she tugged at his fingers he stood up. And then they were inches apart.

"In whatever fashion I choose," she murmured. 

He gave a nod, more a lowering of the head, and waited. It was precarious, the way they were hovering between immersion and breaking into humiliated laughter.

"I choose to respond in the manner of a Vulcan warbling sparrow." She leaned forward and pressed her forehead against his chest, and made a hooting noise.

He froze for a long moment, and dropped back down into the chair. His hands went to his head as he started to laugh. She laughed with him, then came forward to balance on a knee carefully placed between his legs on the chair, and kissed him full on the mouth. 

"It's very hard to be serious when you're trying not to be self-conscious about a performance," she said, pulling away. "Sit there for a minute. Let's try this again, only you're going to calm down, and I'm not going to hoot."

"Maybe if I get some tea?"

She went out to the empty bridge simulation, walked around it slowly, and when she could tell he'd calmed himself sufficiently she re-entered the ready room, first signaling for admittance as she normally would. When she came in he watched her with remarkable composure. 

"Do you have a moment, Captain, to discuss something that I've been wanting to talk to you about?"

That helped settle his nerves even more, that she took the lead. Knowing what to say had been part of the struggle. "Have a seat, Counselor."

She did so, and decided after just a few seconds that an oblique approach would be best. "I believe I have a conflict of interest with another member of the crew."

"Is this becoming a problem, then? I hadn't noticed anything." He was at least managing to be convincing, calm and sipping a little of the tea he'd replicated. She sensed the slight quavering anxiety starting.

"It could be a problem if he decided that were so. It could be something else...." She tried not to let it get away from her but it was difficult not to smile. "If he wants to make it something else. If he feels the same about me."

"Counselor," he began, but this time he seemed caught up in it more -- he stared at her, and she brought her gaze up and locked eyes with him for a moment. "You mean... if I feel the same. Why would you come here otherwise?"

Deanna shifted in the chair, then decided to escalate before he could start to falter. She came forward to the edge of the desk.  "You could tell me to go," she murmured, reaching up to pull her hair band free and shake out her curls. 

"I could," he echoed faintly. His eyes tracked the movements of her fingers as she hooked her thumbs in the pants and peeled them down over her hips slowly, then crossed her arms to draw the top up off her body in a single slow fluid movement, peeling the arms off one by one, pitching it in the chair behind her. It was the wrong outfit for a strip tease but he didn't seem to care that it was a tad awkward to stand on one foot to take off the boot and the bunched pant legs. She sauntered around the desk, trailing her fingers along the edge, adopting a more predatory stance than usual.

"You could tell me to stop," she whispered, smiling and going behind his chair -- she reached down from behind to start working at the uniform, removing his pips first and then pulling the shirt open to reveal his chest. She tossed it on the desk as she moved around to kneel on the floor at his feet, noticing he had dropped the tea cup at some point and it lay under the chair. Running her hands down his shins from knee to ankle, she took off his boots and then tugged off his pants. 

"Do you want me to stop?" Deanna ran her hands lightly up the soft skin of his thighs, letting her palms skate along barely touching him, then stood up on her knees to lean in, guiding his legs apart with her hands, and then flicking her gaze up to his face. 

He was rigid with anticipation, and watching her open-mouthed. He seemed incapable of speaking a word. It seemed he had gotten past the initial awkwardness of pretending to be on the bridge, as she had intended.

"I hope that no one comes into the ready room," she said, as she bent down and wrapped her mouth around his erect penis. The jolt of her reminder of the semi-public nature of the setting was offset neatly by the second jolt, of finding himself in elated appreciation of the sensations she provided. She knew that she was very good at this, since she had specific and direct feedback as to how much he enjoyed which of the ways she applied pressure and friction. He sighed, leaning back in the chair, both his hands finding their way into her hair. There was a point when she sensed the change in interest -- he'd no doubt thought of something else he'd enjoy, and so she eased off and sat back on her heels.

"Up," he exclaimed, his voice raspy and his eyes dilated and intense. He came out of the chair as she took his offered hand and accepted his help to her feet. 

"Tell me what you want," she whispered intently, bringing her hands up to his chest. "Or... show me."

There was a complex tangle of emotions that he wrestled with for a moment, and then a surge of lust as he pushed her back against the desk. It led to being kissed roughly as he leaned into her, his fingers digging into her thigh and buttock, pushing her against the deactivated desktop. He broke off kissing her and panted softly as he moved her into a receptive position, and then the second thought glimmered into being -- just a second of questioning.

"Sir," she breathed along his temple. "What are your orders?" She squirmed slightly on the desk, impatient and needy, inching a little closer and letting her nipples graze his chest.

He growled softly at that. Almost, almost....

She tried to think quickly -- he had found it enticing, when she'd come in the ready room and -- of course. "Sir, if I might make a request?"

"A request," he echoed, kissing her neck. His left hand came up to cup her breast.

"I need you." She raised her hands to his head and leaned back, encouraging him to continue.

"What do you need?" he murmured against her skin.

Why did he have to work this hard for this? She sighed, moving into the sensation of his mouth on her breast. Moaned when he took her nipple in his mouth and sucked. She moaned again as he pulled her leg upward and lowered her to the desk, shifting her weight more solidly onto it.

But he was losing the excitement, as he moved to her other breast. Perhaps, she thought, that was partly her fault. She'd been paying too much attention to it as well -- the setting, the scenario, navigating it to keep him suspending disbelief.

"Jean-Luc," she said, putting her hand on his head. "If it doesn't work, we can switch to something that does."

He stood back from her, and when she started to move he helped her stand up from the desk. "Sorry."

"I'm surprised you even tried, after yesterday." She'd thought it was a little soon, even with pharmaceutical help.

He smoothed down his hair, and looked at her with a sheepish expression. "Any suggestions?"

"Computer -- is there a simulation of the beaches on Risa?"

"Affirmative. There are programs for all public beaches on Risa. Please specify."

"Load simulation of the Temtibi Lagoon."

The change abruptly sent them to a broad white sandy beach in a crescent around brilliant turquoise waters. There were a few people on the sand; a quick comment saw them deleted. Deanna glanced at their clothing scattered in the sand, at her naked lovely man, and smiled at him.

"I haven't been on Risa in years," he commented, surveying the area. He turned to her, and his gaze went to her body. "You know the problem with beaches, don't you?"

"Getting sand in sensitive places, yes. That's why we are at Temtibi. There is a lovely cottage right over there." She pointed at some trees.

He walked with her in that direction. Already, he was relaxing. This was better than the ready room. "I didn't expect it to be so difficult."

"It is what it is. Perhaps you weren't exactly in the mood. Perhaps I'm just bad at role play games -- which I am. I don't usually try."

"I had this idea that it could be -- you know." They entered the grove of trees, and there was the cottage, a sleekly modern white home with red flowers planted around it. The interior was modern and made for ease; the furnishings were plush and soft. There was even a table covered with food and bottles of beverage.

"Exciting?" she asked as she approached the table.

"The other day in the ready room I thought you were going to do... something."

"Maybe it will be exciting again sometime. Just not today. Come sit down."

She did so, and he wandered off, she supposed into the bathroom. The long sofa had many cushions and she had to rearrange a few to make it comfortable to sit in. Jean-Luc returned and dropped a robe over her shoulders before sitting down next to her. "If I'm starting to feel a little chilly you're probably cold."

"Thank you." She put her arms through the sleeves, and settled back in the cushions with him, curling up in his arm and putting her legs across his lap. He was, she noticed, still naked and not feeling a bit of self consciousness. "I have a confession to make."

"What's that?"

"While we were trying on dresses, I showed them one of the gowns I showed you, and bookmarked. I didn't expect that Beverly would decide that because I showed her bookmark four, there would be others and that she would decide to just ask the computer to see the next one... they saw the wedding gown."

His response was unexpected. A little ire, but mostly resignation and affection for her. Acceptance. "Of course."

"I thought you should know, since Beverly might be trying not to grin at you in staff meetings. They're already trying to find bridesmaids dresses. Not that I told them there would be a ceremony any time soon."

"I was thinking about that. Since there's no real sense of urgency I was thinking we could wait until we get back to Earth, which I assume will happen sometime in the next nine years or so -- even on a ten year mission exploring the fringes of the Federation, we'll surely require an upgrade or two."

Deanna went quiet, thinking about how much he'd changed just in the short span of time since the _Enterprise_ had launched -- she felt a great wave of joy, just being with this man that he was now. He wasn't being anxious about anything. He accepted things that had previously been likely to launch anxiety with the calm of a man who'd found peace with himself; he patted her hip and sighed, and noticed her mood with more of the same. Happy and satisfied.

She rested her head on his shoulder and responded to the spoken communication, rather than commenting on the nonverbal, as was her usual practice. It was, after all, the key to her success with him, she was certain. "That sounds like a reasonable plan to me."

"In the short term... I believe we have here all the trappings of a relaxing evening together. Would you care for something to drink?"

"In a minute. This is comfortable enough for the moment."


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we are at last at the episode Conspiracy. Questions that I have asked myself watching this: Why are Troi, Riker, et al up on the bridge and awake, and the captain is asleep -- are we to believe that 90% of the time everyone is on the same shift together except when confidential phone calls come in, then the person is asleep? Does the captain occasionally switch shifts so he has to be asleep in the middle of the day? (I know, I know -- we don't want to hire more actors for random officers, let's just use the ones we already hired and pretend it makes sense.)
> 
> Why, when they figure out it's some parasite, do they not come up with, or even discuss, a way of tranquilizing just the parasite? Or start scanning crew for them? Or come up with an inoculation of some kind to prevent them? Or scan the planet's surface for them with those great scanners that detect some teeny tiny trace of platinum on an entire world (see: Angel One) and beam them infected folk into a locked cargo bay? (I know, I know -- that would end the episode too quickly, and be less interactive, we need the characters to actually punch and shoot people and pretend to be alien possessed, and act like they are eating worms.)
> 
> Why do aliens who possess people make them eat nauseating non food items that provide no additional nutrition or chemical or anything that real food does not? (I know, I know -- we want to show that aliens make us do bad things, icky things, and random things that mean we're evil.)
> 
> What conspiracy was there? Oh, I know, we were supposed to think aliens just taking over a society one person at a time was a conspiracy. That sounds like garden variety alien possession civilization takeover plot stuff to me... Starfleet were the ones conspiring.
> 
> Boy, do they make Geordi look like a lame guy who can't tell jokes....
> 
> Some dialogue herein is from the episode. I took things from extremely vague to the point of WTF, to more specific.

Jean-Luc awakened to the insistent tone of the computer, from a deep sleep. It wasn't his usual alarm tone -- he sat up, and Deanna moaned querulously at being dislodged from her usual spot curled up next to him.

"What is it?" he said and laid a hand on her shoulder to reassure, though he wasn't sure she wouldn't have to leave for the bridge along with him.

"Sorry to bother you sir," came the voice he couldn't place right away, "but there's an incoming transmission -- it's a code forty-seven, sir."

"What?" Deanna whispered.

"Put it through to my quarters," he exclaimed, almost leaping out of bed. "Stay here," he added with less force to Deanna, but firmly.

He hurried out into the living area, to the desk, and the monitor came to life as he sat down as if the computer had waited for him. He spent a few seconds disgruntled by his state of undress, but at least the monitor would only show his bare chest. He gave his name for voice authorization, and once he'd been recognized and his identity confirmed, the image winked out to be replaced by the face of the caller. No doubt an admiral.

When the face came up on the screen, he inhaled sharply. "Walker," he demanded indignantly. Not an admiral. That in itself implied misuse of a classified channel.

"Jean-Luc," the other captain returned. He looked relieved. "It's good to see you. I was afraid, after I'd heard that Quinn had paid you a visit, that -- but no consequence. We need to talk, in person."

"What are you on this channel for -- you can't be simply inviting me over for drinks. Besides, we're out in the Nordoff sector, I understood your current assignment was -- "

"It doesn't matter," Keel exclaimed, talking over him loudly, urgently, leaning closer to the monitor. "You must go to Dytallix B. As quickly as you can get there."

"That's at least six days at high warp! What could possibly justify this?"

Walker stared intently through subspace at him. "You have to come. The future of the Federation depends on it. I wouldn't do this if it weren't an urgent matter of security -- I can't discuss it over subspace, they have moles, they have overtaken some of the highest -- damn it, Jean-Luc, you have to trust me! I swear to you that this is no exaggeration, no fiction -- I would not do this otherwise."

"Walker... are you all right?"

Walker's death's head grin was not reassuring. "I am physically as well as ever, but -- these are strange times. Jean-Luc, tell me you will meet me at Dytallix B in six days. Please."

"You're asking me to leave my assignment, Walker, and this will probably disrupt the next one as well -- traveling so far without an idea of why does not sit well with me."

"I know you have Beverly on your vessel. I know Jack's son is there -- think about them, and all the other children of the Federation, this is something dire and not coming to help us will be risking all of them! You know me, we've known each other since the Academy, you have to hear what I am saying -- it isn't safe to talk over subspace. I'm taking a risk as it is. Quinn said he was there and judged you in the clear -- you've been out on the far reaches of the Federation since. Please, for the sake of everything, trust me."

Jean-Luc nodded. "I'll be there."

Walker smiled at that. "Good. Thank you. Be careful. Don't tell anyone. No one at Starfleet can know you're meeting us."

Before he could respond the call was terminated. He sighed, and leaned back in the chair. "Picard to bridge."

"Conway, here, sir."

"Are there any personnel left on the planet?"

"No, sir, everyone is aboard."

"Good. Break orbit and set a course for Dytallix B. We need to be there in six days."

After a stunned moment, the lieutenant replied, "Yes, sir!"

"Lieutenant, make it a standing order -- there are to be no subspace communications until further notice. Suspend all automated transmissions of ship's logs. We are to do nothing to give away our position. Set the ship to yellow alert."

"Aye, sir!"

"Picard out."

When he returned to bed, Deanna watched him coming without a word, her expression one of dismay. Mirroring his state of upset, no doubt. But she said nothing about it. When he settled in with her, lying on his back and staring at the stars over their heads as the ship went to warp, she moved in to put her cheek on his chest and sighed.

"Only a week into a nice, boring mission," she murmured some minutes later, after neither of them showed any sign of going back to sleep. 

"I'm not going to like this one."

"I assumed none of us will."

"I don't know what's wrong. But not sleeping does no good whatsoever, as it'll be six days at high warp to start unraveling what's really going on. Do you have any suggestions as to how we can get some rest?"

"Mm. Yes, I believe I do. Tell me more about the wedding you want us to have."

They hadn't talked about it, since his proclamation three days before that they would have the ceremony on Earth, at some undetermined time in the future. He'd gone back to the dig, had some success at helping the archaeologists find significant artifacts to further unravel what had taken place here almost a thousand years before, and she had been taking advantage of her minimal client load at the moment to get facials, spend time with her friends, and continue to work on a research project in which she had decided to participate, something to do with anxiety in ensigns on their first shipboard assignments. Co-habitation had been uneventful now that he had resolved to stop obsessing about that part of life and accept it as just that -- a part of his life, and something that did not complicate it in ways that he had feared. And he'd gone back to Dr. Michetti and actually focused, instead of being dismissive, and discovered that the awkwardness with her was much diminished now that he was being sincere instead of politely distant.

"I'm not sure I can. I mean -- the only one I've ever been to, in person, between humans, was Jack and Beverly's. I've been to others but usually those were cross-species or between nonhuman participants. Altogether maybe five? I'm not an expert on wedding ceremonies. I haven't performed many, either, but the standard Starfleet civil ceremony is different."

"I'm assuming there is some significance to having it on Earth instead of finding someone to perform a civil ceremony?"

"My grandfather, father, and my brother, were all married in a small chapel in LaBarre. I don't even know if it's still standing."

"You want to honor tradition." Happiness, and a little pride, rose up in her and led him to almost wonder about his own sanity.

"I know it sounds a little odd to run away from home and vanish into the galaxy, and then want to go back to do this."

Deanna shifted slightly against him, and rolled -- she usually fell asleep with her back against his side, while he usually slept flat on his back. But she was using his arm as a pillow, and so he curled it around her and left his hand sitting in the curve of her waist. "It doesn't sound odd to me at all."

"There are videos," he mumbled. "I've watched my parents' wedding, when I was a child. Thought it was boring, and embarrassing, by turns. When I was a little older I would look at the pictures and think my mother was so happy, and wonder why we hardly ever saw her look like that."

"Children have simplistic assumptions about life sometimes. Especially when their parents don't explain much to them."

"I wonder if she was really so happy with him," he said with a sigh, remembering his mother -- thinking about the time before he'd left for the Academy after he'd finally passed the exam. Failing the first time had been miserable; his father and brother had laughed, jeered, railed against Starfleet and how dehumanizing it all was, while his mother had quietly sat with him and asked if he would try again. 

"She would have been happier if the two of them had been in agreement on how to handle their children," Deanna said.

It drew him up short -- she was speaking as if she had been there. He was certain he'd never said a word about how his parents argued endlessly, usually about him. He'd voiced the preference to enter Starfleet at eight and never wavered, despite and maybe partially because of his father's insistence that he reconsider, and remembered well his mother's quiet assertions that he would only drive their stubborn son into rebellion if he continued to act as if it would happen and argue with a young boy's dream.

He wondered, and was amazed, and she responded. "You think about your parents when you think about having children," she said sleepily. "You thought about them when you thought about marrying me. You may have assumed, because they were your template for such things, that you might be a poor choice for a husband or a father for anyone -- which is not to say it was a deliberate rational decision on your part to feel that way. It's entirely probable that your father's extreme reaction to your announcement that you would be in Starfleet at a very young age was traumatic and that his ongoing disapproval only fed it, and so your childhood and your parents are associated with a very strong negative emotional reservoir that persists, and so your aversion to children makes sense -- trying to relate to them brings up painful associations."

He started to chuckle. It brought her to a slightly more awake state than she'd been in, as she mumbled against his arm. "I'm just going to have to call Greg tomorrow," he said. "Apologize for my skepticism. He did warn me that you could read me this way."

"What?" She wasn't upset, or even mildly disturbed, but curious.

"And it's my own damned fault. Should have known better. You do this psychology thing in your sleep."

"You should take lessons," she grumbled. "If you'd developed the ability to think through things about in your sleep, I'd have never tried to be your counselor and you wouldn't have been in this situation at all. Would you?"

"Then I'll not be traveling back in time to fix the problem."

"You say the nicest things in the strangest ways," Deanna mumbled blearily.

He let her fall asleep, and lay there until he did the same, which tended to take less time than it had before when something like this was afoot. The alarm didn't have a chance to wake him; Deanna managed to do that by leaving him with a cold arm, by moving out of the bed to go into the bathroom. When she returned instead of getting back under the covers she climbed over and lay atop him.

"Oh, I'm so sorry I have such a small bed," he muttered into her hair as it invaded his face. Her ear was close, somewhere in there. He complained that way often enough that she even had a ritual response.

"I'm sorry, I was feeling a little cold. And I appear to be caught on something." She patted the minor bulge in the covers that was the morning's erection. She was sometimes caught on it, that was true.

Because it was routine, and feeling a little true, he said, "This is starting to feel like a chronological anomaly."

"You know, I've heard you say that before."

He huffed, and held her there with both arms around her waist. Then he started to need to get up, and she rolled away to let him do that. While he was washing his hands afterward the alarm went off.

"I should get to the bridge early," he said, returning from the bathroom. But she was already up and collecting articles of clothing, dropping them on the foot of the bed, moving through her own routine. 

"You put the ship on yellow alert so I should expect so."

"Deanna...." He thought about what Greg had said about clearance and Senna's need for it. "Did you sense somehow what was going on when I got the call last night?"

"I didn't. The computer notifies the senior staff when you do it -- my badge was on the dressing table." She glanced at him, frowning slightly. "I wouldn't do that. I heard, I know what code forty-seven means."

"All right."

 She went first in the shower as her hair and makeup took longer, and then they finished dressing together. "Coffee and croissants?" She smiled at him as he joined her at the table.

"Some crepes, with clotted cream and pears, and coffee."

Deanna brought them two plates from the replicator and went back for the coffee. "Senna thinks the baby will come today."

"Aren't they on the way home, still?"

"Yes, almost there. But the baby does not care where he is born."

"You say that as though the baby gets to decide." He stopped chewing. "Does he?"

Deanna smirked. "Of course not. She had two children so she can tell she's ready."

He wondered as he ate what it would be like, watching Deanna be pregnant. It started to bring up feelings he realized he could not afford in the current circumstance so he started again to recall what Quinn had said. And then he felt foolish. It had to be connected to this, whatever it was.

"Coming to the bridge?" He carried the dishes over to dispose of them. 

"As you wish." On the way, in the lift, she smiled and stood close. 

The rest of the senior staff including Beverly waited for them on the bridge, faces serious and eyes showing their concern. Jean-Luc glanced at Deanna and headed to the observation lounge without a word. They all came in silently and as he remained standing behind his chair so did they all.

"I received a code forty-seven transmission last night. So this is not much of a briefing." 

All of them went tight-lipped and looked at each other anxiously before refocusing on him. Except Yar, who stared intently at him, and Data, who showed concern but no fear.

"Can you tell us whether we can expect a battle?" Yar exclaimed.

"Dytallix isn't anywhere near the Neutral Zone," Will said.

"I'm not sure I understand," Geordi said softly. "What exactly code forty-seven means?"

"It means that a high-ranking admiral contacted the captain and issued orders related to an immediate and dire threat to the Federation," Beverly said.

Deanna, standing slightly closer to him than the others, glanced sharply at him -- registering his emotional response to it. He willed her to be silent with his eyes. But it set off a train of thought that he spent a moment pursuing, until he came to a decision. Interrupting Will's commentary to Geordi about different security codes, he cleared his throat and turned to Deanna again.

"You remember exactly what Quinn said," he said quietly. Knew that she not only remembered but could re-experience it, in essence, from what she had said.

She blinked, concern written in her posture -- she had crossed her arms and seemed to be focusing on some point on the floor, until he spoke. "I remember."

"Repeat it, please."

"What he said to me directly, or what he said when he was speaking to you and me and Commander Riker, just before he left?"

"The latter. If you would. Specifically, what he said about why he was here interrogating the crew."

Her brow furrowed. Now everyone else was staring at her, with keen interest and a few open mouths. Deanna gave a slight nod after a moment of what appeared to be introspection. "He said that Starfleet Command became suspicious of certain problems in the Federation. He said something or someone was trying to destroy the fabric of everything we've built up in the last two hundred years. That there were too many people involved to go into detail. He didn't know whether the threat came from inside or outside. He wanted you to accept a promotion and take over the Academy, so that you would be close at hand, available."

"And what did you observe about Remmick?"

She studied him with wide, fathomless eyes, startled and anxious. "That he did not feel human to me. Something else was going on with him."

Walker's mention of Quinn's name was telling. Jean-Luc turned to the view forward, of the movement of the stars as seen from a ship at warp. "I don't like this at all."

"You aren't the only one," Will said.

"Sit down, everyone." He turned after they all did so and went to his seat, stiffly sitting down and taking note that Deanna had taken the spot that Will typically did, at his immediate left. "We're taking a risk that I never want to expect any Starfleet officer to take -- we're abandoning assignments to respond to the request of a Starfleet officer whose intent I do not yet know. An officer I trust, but nevertheless, we all know what can happen to people out here. I almost refused to respond to this."

"Because you have no information," Deanna added quietly.

"You think that this is connected to Quinn's mysterious visit," Will exclaimed.

"The theme is the same -- don't talk to anyone in Starfleet, don't trust anyone. I find myself divided between assuming that old friends of mine have all simultaneously been co-opted, or possibly deceived, or assuming that there is actually some real threat that is nebulous and somehow resisting detection or direct intervention."

"Whoever this friend is, he must be someone you have a lot of respect for," Beverly said.

"As you do, he's your friend as well," Jean-Luc said. "Mr. Data, how long would it take you to review Starfleet orders issued over the past six months?"

Data cocked his head for a few seconds. "I do not believe it would take more than a few hours. I do not yet know the quantity of information on that subject, however."

"Then start the review, now, and do not discuss the nature of your task with anyone. I want to know about any peculiarities, any patterns that stand out as unusual in any way. Report to me when you are done."

"Yes, sir." Data rose from his chair and departed at his usual purposeful pace.

"This is crazy," Tasha blurted, immediately looking chagrined at her minor outburst.

"It is indeed." Jean-Luc glanced around the table. "We need more information and we won't have enough of it, even when Data is finished. Either we are fighting a conspiracy or we are becoming part of one, and not knowing which is a position that I find most unsettling and unacceptable. I'm asking you to trust me that someone I trust isn't leading us astray."

"We're with you, sir," Geordi said at once. "No matter what."

"Unless you have a suspicion that I have been compromised," he said.

Heads turned, and Deanna glanced down at her hands on the table. "I know you are anxious and wanting to resist this. But we understand -- you can't simply do nothing."

"I am sure you are all aware of the consequences of my choice," Jean-Luc said sternly. "If I am chasing a ghost, a rumor, we are all culpable -- it is your responsibility to speak out if you believe I am in error. Are there any who wish to do so at this time?"

No one spoke. Deanna was as concerned as he, and he noticed Will gazing across the table at her with questions in his eyes.

"We will be at Dytallix B in five and a half days, approximately. Use the time to prepare your departments and if any of you have any additional thoughts on the situation I am more than willing to discuss them with you."

"Do you think that it might be beneficial to review what Remmick targeted in questioning each of us?" Yar asked. "If Deanna thought he was suspect, there might be a pattern there."

Jean-Luc sighed. He didn't believe so, but it was one of the few things they could do, and doing something was better than doing nothing and missing something. "Did any of you make logs of what Remmick asked of you?"

"He questioned me extensively about your fitness for duty," Deanna said. "He questioned situations beyond your control -- Q, the incident with Bok. He kept insinuating that somehow you were supposed to not let things go beyond your control."

"You said he felt alien to you," Beverly put in. "I'm wondering if anyone noticed anything odd -- tics, or odd behavior. Sometimes parasites have identifiable side effects on the hosts. There's a long list of times Starfleet personnel have been under outside influence and exhibited such symptoms."

And so it began, the long debriefing -- comparing their experiences and looking for clues. Deanna even started taking people to the ready room and putting them in hypnotic trances to help aid the recall of any details of their encounter with Remmick. They broke for lunch and Jean-Luc left the bridge. Will rode the lift with him.

"Doesn't sit right," Will muttered as they were swept along toward deck eight.

"I've never responded to such an undefined, nebulous threat before," Jean-Luc said. "Too much guessing, not enough information."

"You're technically violating regulations, you know. Talking to us as much as you have."

"Part of the dilemma for me has been the violation of regulations committed by the officer who contacted me. Beverly was correct that only admirals of a particular rank are allowed access to that channel. I was not contacted by an admiral."

Will was startled by that. "Which leads me to ask why we're responding at all."

"Quinn's name was invoked in the conversation. There's obviously something going on, and regardless of what it is something needs to be done -- but I'm dubious as to what that should be, and to whom it should be done. At the very least whatever we are going to learn at Dytallix should be evaluated and possibly reported to Command."

"But if the assertions are true we don't know who to trust at Command," Will said. "This is impossible."

"Oh, no. Difficult, absurd, any variety of adjectives apply, however, I refuse to believe this is impossible. We're going to have to rely on intuition, I think."

"Then I'd have to say that what Deanna sensed about Remmick is about the best lead we have at this point. I have a hunch it's a subtle attempt at taking over key positions in Starfleet. Though how Remmick is key to anything is unclear."

"I wish I had insisted that he be taken to sickbay when Deanna mentioned it," Jean-Luc said with a sigh. Then he harrumphed. "Transporter logs. He beamed aboard."

"I'll get Avery and Data on that when Data finishes his analysis. They can distill the data for Dr. Crusher's review."

"Good. I'll be back on the bridge in an hour."

Their quarters were empty, so he replicated a sandwich and settled down with only his thoughts and the awareness that Deanna was occupied by something. He could tell when she stopped doing whatever she'd been doing, and a few minutes later she arrived, striding in and shooting him a smile before turning for the replicator.

"I was trying to remember more about Remmick," she said, bringing her salad over to the table. "Meditating sometimes helps."

"This is perhaps an odd request." And then he couldn't make it. He watched her eat and thought about her standing in front of him wearing the wedding gown, looking over her shoulder and smiling fondly at him.

After a few bites she looked up from her salad at him. "You were saying?"

"Never mind."

"Was this a personal request, or an official one?" She took another bite of the salad.

"Personal. But I'm having second thoughts, as you can see."

"If you go back to wanting to make the request, let me know." She poked at lettuce diffidently. "These tense missions where we have all the travel time before we have a chance to actually do something are difficult."

"It happens often, too. Traveling at warp to fortify a position on a border, or a zone, or going to join a deployment in a battle zone... it's difficult to wait while you're on alert."

"You're not finishing, and I'm losing my appetite."

"A side benefit -- the Starfleet diet. Lose weight while you work."

"The insomnia starts to make more sense as we go along," she said diffidently. "If you're done, I'll take your plate along with mine. Want a cup of tea?"

"Yes, thank you."

She came back from the replicator holding two cups, glancing at the couch, and he moved to follow her there. After a few sips he put it aside, and considered going back to the bridge, but put his arm around her instead. It led to having her leaning closer, as she usually did when he put his arm around her shoulders. Which led to starting to fall asleep, and coming back awake abruptly at the sound of Tasha's voice.

"Yar to captain."

He sat up, realizing he'd been drooping until his cheek rested on Deanna's head. "Picard here."

"There's an incoming transmission for you from Captain Norman. All other transmissions are going to messages, per your orders, sir, but I thought this might be important."

"No, let it go into my messages. But do continue to alert me when you receive incoming transmissions to me. Picard out."

"We should get back, I guess," Deanna said tiredly. She'd been dozing as well.

"No. Sit here for a minute."

It was an easy request for her to comply with. She made a soft sound that might have been content, or happy, and nestled close again. She was both; it was incredibly satisfying to have her there, sharing that with him.

"This is what you were going to request, wasn't it?" she mumbled against his shoulder.

He sighed.

"You could simply reach for me, I'd get the idea."

"As long as that's the arrangement."

She gave a lazy chuckle and wriggled, shifting position slightly. "It seems you've stopped trying to make any assumptions at all. Most men would have assumed a certain amount of latitude, when it comes to touching and hugging and kissing, things that couples tend to do."

"I suppose old habits die hard. I'm well trained in not touching the crew, after all."

"Well. If you need explicit permission you can assume it. I promise to let you know if that changes."

"All right." His hand slid up from her waist to her breast. She giggled.

"Why wouldn't I like you touching me?"

"There are a lot of reasons women don't like being touched. Too public, too clingy, too -- " He stopped talking when her surprise started.

"I'm just a little surprised at clingy."

He considered dismissing it as a general list of things that someone might find bothersome, but knew it wouldn't work. "There were a very few women, when I was very young, who...." It was obvious to her when he struck something he hated to articulate by now, he was sure.

"Who were very young as well, who might have been overly concerned with what others think, or not genuinely interested in you." Deanna raised her head and kissed him, on the side of the head, on his ear, on his jaw -- then whispered, "I know how to appreciate such gifts."

"I guess it could be said that I am fairly good at touching you," he said, his tone colored by amusement.

"A good example of that old idiom, damning with faint praise," she murmured, sliding over to straddle his lap, pulling her skirt up to accommodate the position. She leaned down and kissed him, her hands cradling his jaw. His hands went to her thighs and slid up to conform to her buttocks. Suddenly he was lost in that kiss and not caring about anything else.

When she sat up to look him in the eye, he smiled, reaching up to touch her cheek, run his fingers down her face, twine her hair around them. She leaned, bracing her forearms on his shoulders, and rested her forehead against his. He considered doing more, but he'd told his first officer he would be on the bridge.

"I know," she said softly, as if he'd said it aloud. "We have things that need to be done. I love you, Jean-Luc."

"I love you. And I think I need to tell you that more often."

Deanna moved off his lap, smoothing her skirt and turning in place. He watched her with a lump in his throat. She turned back to look at him with questioning eyes.

"I probably need to tell you also that I often find myself contemplating the good fortune I've had, that brought you into my life. It almost reconciles the return to Starfleet."

"You mean a personal relationship is resolving the dilemma of whether to stay in Starfleet? That sounds like a conversation to have later when we have an opportunity." She watched him stand up and do his own quick check of his appearance, before tugging the shirt straight and turning for the door.

While they walked together and rode the lift together, they were silent. He asked for the time on the way to the bridge; he was a little late getting back, but no one seemed to notice. Will stood up in the center of the bridge as they arrived. "I was just discussing with Avery whether we might be able to shave off some travel time."

Data turned from the ops console. "I have concluded the research you asked me to collect, sir."

"Excellent. Mr. Data, my ready room -- carry on, Number One."

Data followed him in, already speaking. "I have analyzed the entirety of Starfleet Command's issued directives for the past six months, and the six months prior to that after I discovered a pattern of unusual activity."

"What sort of activity?" Jean-Luc reached his chair and sat down, turning to face Data.

The android stood in front of the desk. "An uncustomary reshuffling of personnel, usually in the command areas. The new officers have had frequent contact with the highest levels of Starfleet Command. In addition to the reassignments I went on to examine communications, not content but frequency of contact, between the new personnel and Command. The orders were given with great subtlety. To use an aphorism, Starfleet's left hand did not know what its right hand was doing."

"Data, can you speculate as to the purpose of these reassignments?"

"I believe it is a clandestine attempt to control vital sectors of Federation territory."

"You are suggesting, I think, that these officers are specifically attempting to control particular sectors -- to what end?"

"That is unclear. However, the founding member worlds of the Federation are among them. Others have resources that I believe would be most helpful to an invasion force, or strategic importance of other kinds. I can elaborate." Data had come a long way in a short time, in how he responded to requests for information.

"I think we should go into that in the context of a staff meeting. But you are concluding that you have detected abnormal patterns of behavior within Starfleet -- across the ranks? Admirals, captains -- the chiefs of staff?"

"Yes, sir," Data said as if that were the most casual and unimportant of details.

"Are there any peculiarities in the behavior of Captain Walker Keel, or Admiral Quinn?"

Data's head tilted and a slight frown developed on his impassive face. After a few seconds, he replied, "I did not find any records pertaining to Captain Keel. Admiral Quinn frequently communicates widely within the bounds of his jurisdiction -- he has not however been reassigning staff within the same patterns as some of the others."

"All right. We'll convene a senior staff meeting in half an hour. Did you by chance also have an opportunity to look at the transporter logs?"

"I was able to isolate the information specific to Mr. Remmick's transporter use. I provided it to Dr. Crusher as Commander Riker suggested."

Jean-Luc nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Data."

A slight smile at that. "Sir, are you intending to attend the painting class as scheduled?"

"I'll get back to you on that, Mr. Data. Dismissed."

Data turned on a heel and departed, passing Riker as he came in. "Sir, everyone's gathered in the observation lounge."

So Jean-Luc joined the senior staff, and they focused on Beverly's report of her analysis of the transporter's logs. "The transporter is programmed to filter out foreign bacteria and viruses, and deactivate weapons. It doesn't do anything to identify anomalies which in retrospect might be a good thing to think about programming in," she said, her hands on the table in front of her as she leaned forward intently. "There's a large mass present in Remmick's body cavity that cannot be explained. The problem with the transporter logs is that it does nothing to diagnose or differentiate between even one organ or another -- essentially it takes a snapshot of the organism or the object being transported, of all the molecules and how everything is put together, and restores it to what it was before the transport. So what I have is a picture of an organism within an organism. I can't begin to guess how this thing co-exists with him, but there's something residing within his chest cavity, somehow."

"Knew there had to be something wrong with the guy," Geordi muttered.

"Mr. LaForge?" Will exclaimed, glancing at Jean-Luc.

Geordi looked embarrassed. "He just didn't look -- my VISOR reads heat signatures. Everyone's got their own pattern, some species run hot and some run cold, but the pattern varies a lot. I could tell there was something different about him."

"This is the kind of thing we should share in meetings," Jean-Luc said. "No need for self-recriminations, Mr. LaForge, but in the future if you question something please at least mention it."

"I sensed something was off about him as well, Geordi," Deanna said sadly.

"And I should have at least brought that up to the admiral," Jean-Luc said. "Not that it would necessarily have solved anything if this is some sort of invasion but it may have changed the course of it. Dr. Crusher, have you enough information to suggest countermeasures?"

"For starters we can set the transporter to screen for the presence of this thing. I'll continue to assess the data -- I have the computer compiling a detailed report of the chemistry and the dimensions of the creature. I'll be able to give you more information by the end of the day."

"Once we have enough information we should probably have the entire crew checked," Tasha exclaimed.

"Make it so," Jean-Luc said.

"I wonder where Remmick has been, if that might be revealing," Deanna commented.

It led to a query of the computer, but was inconclusive. Jean-Luc sighed and glanced at Data again. "After the meeting, look into his visits to recent offworld locations. As Remmick has primarily been stationed on Earth, I would suppose these creatures might have an established presence there prior to Remmick's infection." And then he addressed the rest of the officers. "Mr. Data has some information that may help us understand the goal of this incursion. I asked him earlier for an analysis of orders issued by Command. He discovered a disturbing pattern in reassignments of personnel."

The ensuing discussion ran long. After an hour he called it done -- sent Dr. Crusher and Data on their way to complete their assigned tasks, and the others left as well. Deanna remained in her chair and sat with him alone for a few silent minutes.

"Let's go. You should take time to focus on other things, in between briefings. We have a lot of waiting to do."

"I know," he replied, looking up from the spot on the table he'd been staring at, while thinking hard about the situation. "But this situation, it's unprecedented. Parasites, alien possessions, there have been incidents in the field -- but something of this magnitude, I simply don't understand how it could be possible."

Deanna nodded, thinking, her eyes distant. "I would expect that one of the things an intelligent invasion force of this nature might do would be to gain control of Starfleet Medical. Due to the nature of the parasite that would be necessary, given the regulations on regular physical examinations for personnel."

Jean-Luc smiled at that. "Maybe when this is over we should collaborate in writing mystery novels. You seem to have a knack for planning intrigue."

"Maybe we should. For now, let's go for a walk."

"Do I seem different to you? Less anxious? Since we first met, I mean."

Her eyes went wide, and her fond smile broadened. "You are. I'm sure you don't need my reassurance about that."

"I wanted to hear it nonetheless." He reached over to touch her arm. "I have an appointment with Michetti tomorrow morning. I know your appointments are on hold when the ship is on alert, but I suspect hers are not?"

"They're not, because she's not senior staff. But you're typically focused entirely on the mission. If you want to reschedule, I'm sure she'll understand."

"No, I'm going to attend if nothing changes."

"All right. Good. I know she said that she thinks you're more invested in the process. Which was all she told me."

He exhaled, smirking at that. "Deanna, I don't mind if you know what happens in my sessions. It seems a little ridiculous to do what we do, and expect any privacy whatsoever."

"So you can tell me about them while we walk, if you like."

He rose from the chair and followed her. He knew she would be the only thing that could distract him from worrying about the situation endlessly. He had good people working on the only clues they had; obsessing endlessly would be a waste of energy. What he hadn't had before was a distraction that was enough to hold his attention. They got in the lift, and she asked for deck eleven after querying the computer about an empty holodeck.

"Where are we going today?" he asked.

"I thought you might like to see some of Betazed. Perhaps someplace you haven't been before."

"I've been to the house, and Greg and Senna took me to several places that were local to them. I haven't had the opportunity to see much beyond that."

"Then we'll go see some of the sites -- and we won't have to fight the hordes of tourists to see them." She leaned against him, and despite the situation she was quite content. It was contagious and eased some of his anxiety.

"Wonderful."


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the way episodes are written you would think the officers on all the other ships are bumbling fools -- the Enterprise gets to save the day, all the time.
> 
> Not that I'm any better. But at least I have a reason for why they have the edge.

Some mornings they were in sync with Will, in departing for the bridge. They strode out just as he was going by their door on the way to the turbolift. The ship was two hours from Dytallix B. "I'm actually looking forward to getting there," Will exclaimed without so much as a good morning. "Maybe there will be a real explanation of why we're being asked to be here."

Jean-Luc glanced at him -- Will seemed tightly-wound. "We're going to need the long range sensors on that system as soon as we drop out of warp." Ambush had been one of the many theories floated about what might happen when they arrived.

"Yes, sir." Will marched into the lift first and spun to face front. He looked at them for the first time, Deanna and then Jean-Luc. "You're pretty relaxed."

"I don't believe he's ever shown much anxiety in a crisis," Deanna commented, with faint amusement in her tone.

"Well, no, but -- never mind."

"Maybe it's the fact that he keeps his counseling appointments," Deanna said, though she knew better. She'd kept him distracted when they had time to be, and taught him to meditate.

They knew, because Data had accessed the network from behind a durable firewall that kept the network from pinging the ship's locator beacon, that the _Horatio_ was supposed to be in the Bettain sector -- a long way from Dytallix. But they hadn't been able to verify that. They knew little more than that. Meanwhile Beverly had assisted in the alteration of the transporter's scanners, to detect the organism that Remmick had had, or anything similar to it. Data and the sciences department had worked on a way to update the scanners and the tricorders to identify them quickly.

Will didn't respond to the assertion about counseling. "I think we're as ready as we can be, Captain."

"Considering we don't know what to be ready for... but this is a good crew, so I remain optimistic."

Once on the bridge, they reviewed the logs from the night watch and settled in for the remaining hour of travel at high warp. The silence that reigned on the bridge was not the usual relaxed quiet of the ship at warp on the way to a destination. They'd continued at yellow alert. Everyone was on edge; all Jean-Luc had to do was glance at Deanna's face when she didn't notice him looking. She became visibly more concerned in proximity to the senior staff.

"Mr. LaForge?"

"We're about to drop out of warp, sir."

Data glanced over his shoulder. "Sir, long range scans are picking up another vessel."

"Lieutenant Yar, any incoming transmissions?"

"No, sir. But -- their shields are up. Should we -- "

"No," he snapped. "Mr. Data, when we've established orbit scan the planet's surface."

It took some time to locate the abandoned mining facility that was the only installation on Dytallix B -- the majority of activity in the system was on Dytallix A, the planet currently on the far side of the sun and in a much wider orbit. It was easy to see how this facility had been chosen as a location for a clandestine meeting. While they were wrestling over who would beam down with him -- Tasha argued against him going at all, as did Will -- another vessel arrived. And another. Both frigates, commanded by Tryla Scott and a Bolian named Rixx. Neither of them hailed or responded to hails. 

Jean-Luc turned to Deanna for the first time since the argument started. She remained seated in her chair, hands in her lap, sitting stiffly upright. She raised her eyes to meet his. 

"You're going with me," he said, with none of the ire or forcefulness he had been displaying. She wasn't surprised. They'd already discussed that.

"Captain," Will exclaimed. 

"Yar, get two other security officers -- meet us in transporter room two. Data, anyone beaming down from the other ships?"

"Yes, sir. There are now three life signs on the planet within the facility." Data, at least, sounded the same as always.

"You have the bridge, Number One." He turned away from Will, ignoring his scowl, and Deanna rose and followed him up to the turbolift. Tasha came in with them.

 "Sir, you should at least arm yourself," Tasha said. Her voice had that same quiet intensity as always.

"I think you need to remember these are Starfleet officers, Lieutenant," Jean-Luc said quietly. He looked at Deanna again. "Anything?"

"I don't sense anything out of the ordinary. Other than a great deal of tension on the parts of a few. And your first officer is very angry."

"They aren't going to talk to him. It's obvious that this situation has people on the brink of panic, which is hard to do to a starship captain."

They stopped at a weapons locker and Tasha insisted on phasers for all. Bates and Worf arrived as they were putting the weapons on their hips to claim their own. And then they entered the transporter room and beamed down. The away team materialized outside a large door -- the door itself was pitted and the paint worn off, probably by the howling wind that blasted them with sand the instant they arrived. It had also been left partially open as if the power had been cut while it was in motion.

"They're inside," Deanna commented over the wind, raising her voice slightly. "I don't sense anything like Remmick."

Jean-Luc led the group into a high-ceilinged foyer. Drifts of sand had risen against the walls around the perimeter of the room. There wasn't anything left save a desk that appeared to be molded into the floor. At least the room provided some shelter from the wind. "You should all wait here -- if the counselor senses I am in danger she will instruct you to intervene."

"Sir," Tasha and Worf exclaimed in unison. He raised a hand to fend off anything further. With one last glance at Deanna he strode into the inner door, turned left to follow footprints in the dusting of sand on the floor. There were no lights so the farther from the entrance he got, the darker it was; fortunately the short corridor turned right and ended in a large open room with broad windows that ran the length of it. The windows were hazed over -- clearly the power had been off for some time and the usual protective force fields hadn't been there to protect the transparent aluminum. But even through the haze there was enough dim light to see the three captains standing in the middle of the room, apart from a few overturned chairs and a table, all with crossed arms and in shadow.

Jean-Luc hesitated, drawing on his connection with Deanna, and she focused on him as they had discussed. It felt as though they were standing there together. He took a few slow steps forward, dust rising around his boots, and stopped a generous distance from the trio. Tryla Scott was not someone he knew well, neither was Rixx, but he knew both had been Walker's officers prior to promotions.

"Jean-Luc," Walker said, taking a step away from the other two. "It's good to see you. I think the last time was on Risa, when we went to that wedding."

[He's very anxious, Jean-Luc. I think testing you, as is likely obvious.]

"You know that we've never been to Risa together. You're trying to determine if I'm who I appear to be, aren't you?"

Walker huffed loudly and glanced back at Scott. "I told you." He started to walk around Jean-Luc slowly. "Is your wife doing well?"

"I'm not married, as you know." Then as he wasn't certain what the others had heard, he added, "Though that might change shortly."

That brought Walker around on his heel to stare at him.

"Would you like to meet her?" Jean-Luc said casually. 

But Walker said nothing. A few tense moments later, he went back to script. "What is my brother's name?"

"Your sister's names are Ann and Melissa. Walker, honestly, can we get to the point? This is becoming tedious."

Walker chuckled at that, gaining volume, and came close enough that he could look him in the eye. "You must understand that we had to be certain. There's too much at stake and we've lost too many."

[He's decided to believe you. The others have not.]

"You mean -- what do you mean? Are people being killed?"

"They're being taken somehow. Brainwashed. One day they are themselves, the next they can't remember their own family members or old acquaintances, and their personalities are completely different. It's like a plague across the Federation."

"Why aren't you scanning for biological anomalies?"

"What are you saying? That you know what this problem is?" Tryla Scott started to make her way to Jean-Luc's right, slowly, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Suggesting something like that can make them belligerent. The times we've talked someone into sickbay they're cleared for duty," Rixx said. He sounded almost angry.

Jean-Luc thought that made Deanna's supposition likely, that Starfleet Medical had been compromised first. She agreed wordlessly. "We had someone come aboard with an odd parasite that altered him. If any of you had a Betazoid officer you might have known this already."

That led to the trio exchanging glances, and Walker sighed heavily. "I suppose that might explain the deaths and reassignments of some of the Betazoid officers."

"I've looked at all the changes in personnel -- there is a distinct pattern to them. And telepaths have been resigning or dying at an alarming rate. We need to spread the word -- after verifying those we spread it to have not been infected. Come aboard the _Enterprise_  and we'll share the information we've gathered with you."

Scott backed away again, and Rixx stayed as he was. [They are still unconvinced and you startled them. They are afraid.]

"What would convince you that I'm not part of this clandestine group of hostiles?" Jean-Luc asked. 

"That's part of the problem," Rixx said belligerently. "I can believe someone is not, and then they demonstrate that they are."

"Or, perhaps, they are co-opted by a parasitical organism after you decide to trust them and that changes them," Jean-Luc said. "Would you believe me if I demonstrate that I am not? I'm fine with beaming you aboard, as my transporter has been refined to detect these creatures."

Scott turned to look at Rixx. "He isn't denying anything. They have all denied that anything is amiss."

Rixx nodded curtly. "True."

"If they are getting rid of telepaths, one way or the other, why would I have a Betazoid aboard?" Jean-Luc said. "Counselor. Come in here, please."

The verbal request was more for them -- all three turned to watch Deanna enter the room. She'd worn her gray pantsuit and put her hair up in a tight knot on the back of her head. As she approached Walker's stance turned wary. He peered in the gloom until she was close enough to see her eyes, and turned to the others. 

"Betazoid."

"Lieutenant-Commander Troi is an empath," Jean-Luc said. "Do you sense anything from these officers that concerns you, Counselor?"

"No, sir." Deanna came to stand slightly behind him, putting her hands behind her back.

"How do we know she isn't compromised?" Rixx exclaimed.

"We've been out on the edges of the Federation, exploring. Apparently this issue is radiating outward from Command, on Earth," Deanna said. She'd looked at the data as well and even contributed to mapping it on star charts. "The pattern shows that medical staff are a primary target. But not counselors as much as doctors."

"Walker," Rixx exclaimed.

Apparently, Walker was nominated the officer on point. He frowned and kept staring at Deanna, who looked back at him with her usual composure. "Jean-Luc, you're sure about this information you collected?"

"Of course not. I can't be sure of anything -- you aren't telling me what you know, either. I'm still waiting for you to tell me whatever it is you couldn't tell me over subspace."

"We need to go back to Earth, approach this directly once and for all. If you really have seen the changes...."

Scott cleared her throat. "We should see what Picard has. It might be something we don't have. See why he thinks this is a parasite."

"How do we know you haven't tipped your hand to them, if you're accessing information via subspace?" Rixx demanded suddenly.

"We took precautions. We installed a firewall to block any tracking the Starfleet network might have done," Deanna said. Jean-Luc glanced askance at her -- he hadn't realized she was paying that much attention. He could tell she was feeling a little offended on the crew's behalf. "How do we know you haven't?"

The three captains had approached and stood in a much-smaller circle with Jean-Luc; Walker grimaced at Deanna's question. "We would have seen the results by now. Captain Hummel contacted me first, with his suspicions. At the time I didn't take him seriously. A day later he was dead."

"How?" Hummel had a heavy cruiser -- there'd been nothing in the daily Starfleet news about losing a starship. Jean-Luc frowned at the thought of Kurt Hummel being a victim of this situation.

"His CMO said that he had a heart attack," Walker said grimly. "And he couldn't get him resuscitated."

"What else?"

Walker indulged him with a list of people -- some of whom Jean-Luc had met, some he had known only by name -- who were deceased under curious circumstances. He glanced at Deanna; she was angry, too.

"You need to take this seriously," Rixx intoned. "Tryla and I can tell you similar stories."

Scott glared at the floor, shaking her head. "Some of my classmates from the Academy are gone. My cousin -- friends. We can't understand how this hasn't been in the news."

"We need to get going -- we shouldn't remain in the same system for very long, it will be noticed." Rixx turned to Walker.

"Unfortunately we can't be completely certain we aren't being watched. He's correct -- but I think we should see the information you have, Jean-Luc."

They had to leave the facility to get a solid transporter lock. Walker was startled by the security officers, but said nothing. Once aboard the _Enterprise_ Jean-Luc looked at O'Brien, questioning.

The transporter chief waved his hand. "All clear, sir. Welcome aboard, Captains."

Jean-Luc passed his phaser to Tasha and gestured at the door. "Shall we go? We will be in my quarters, Counselor."

"Yes, sir." [Should I come with you?]

He glanced at her and nodded, turned to Tasha. "You are dismissed, Lieutenant. As are your officers."

"Sir." Tasha was off with Worf and Bates in her wake, heading to the nearest turbolift.

The three captains were wary but followed Jean-Luc from the transporter room. Deanna walked with him, glancing at him, assuming his response to her question from his emotional reaction to it as she often did. Walker was behind them and as they reached the lift he asked, "How did you discover there is a parasite involved?"

"Admiral Quinn had an assistant that came aboard with him. Greg was attempting to screen for what I now believe is the same issue you have identified -- he was attempting to determine who he could trust, as he'd discovered something odd was going on. The counselor sensed that there was something not quite human about the assistant, Commander Remmick, who is assigned to the Inspector General's office. But we weren't able to examine him directly, so pulled the transporter logs and had our engineers and the CMO go through the information to determine there was a parasite present."

Scott came in last, turned to face front in the crowded lift, and waited until Jean-Luc told the computer which deck they wanted. "You're saying that you had one aboard? Have you screened everyone?"

"Yes," Deanna said firmly. "All crew were brought into sickbay and screened, starting with the senior staff and the CMO herself."

They were a tight fit in the lift. As they left it on deck eight Jean-Luc contacted Data and asked him to join them. "Would any of you care for something to drink?" He preceded them into the room and turned to watch them come in -- somehow Walker had been delayed, and came in behind the others. And the odd look said that perhaps he had noticed that there were two names at the door. Deanna went to the replicator while others settled on the couch, in the chairs, and as Jean-Luc took the end of the couch she brought him a cup of tea. Then she fetched a chair from the table, placed it next to Walker's where he sat with his back to the door, and sat down.

Walker turned to Jean-Luc, waved a finger at Deanna, and said, "This is who you meant?"

Jean-Luc gazed at him disdainfully, as if insulted. The computer chimed. "Come," he called out, and Data came in. "Lieutenant-Commander Data, this is Captain Keel, Captain Scott, and Captain Rixx. I would like you to summarize for them the information you collected on the odd pattern of orders given, transfers of personnel, and ship reassignments."

"Certainly, Captain." Data seemed pleased to be called upon to repeat himself. There was a hint of a smile on his lips as he began the recitation. Scott watched open-mouthed, and Rixx seemed a little shocked himself. Deanna settled into a subdued, eyes half-closed, head-bowed posture that he had long wondered -- was she off in her own thoughts, or paying close attention?

"Very thorough," Walker said at length. Data had worked on pausing now and then, as it had been mentioned to him before that his longer explanations could be overwhelming if he didn't do so occasionally.

Data cocked his head. "There is more."

"Yes, there is, but do you feel that it will make the point any more clearly?" Deanna asked unexpectedly.

Data cocked his head and twisted slightly toward Deanna. "A fair point," he said, as usual not taking offense.

"I would like you to prepare copies of the programming that we added to our transporters and our scanners," Jean-Luc said. "One copy for each of them. Thank you, Mr. Data."

The android nodded and turned to go. Once the door was closed behind him, Walker turned with raised eyebrows to Jean-Luc. "That would be the android?"

"My second officer," Jean-Luc said.

"And you have a Klingon security officer," Walker mused.

Scott wasn't happy with the digression. "Walker? Don't we have more urgent concerns?"

"We've done as we intended, met with Jean-Luc, determined his status," Walker exclaimed. "Surely we can take a few moments to catch our breath."

Jean-Luc leaned forward and put what was left of his tea on the table in front of him. "I should think that once you have the updates you might want to determine the status of your own crews, whether you might have someone aboard who is infected."

"You can be sure that we will," Scott said. Now she was gazing at Deanna with some hostility. Disapproval?

They sat for a few moments in silence, then Data returned -- brought isolinear modules for each of the three captains, who accepted with thanks, and then Rixx and Scott both departed immediately after bidding their peers farewell. Jean-Luc thanked and dismissed Data again, and the android departed for the bridge. Walker continued to sit in the arm chair, holding his isolinear module, and thinking about something.

"He isn't sure what to think about us," Deanna said, smiling at Jean-Luc.

Walker tensed and raised an eyebrow at her.

"That doesn't take much to determine," Jean-Luc said.

"If it helps, I can tell you that I was as surprised as you." Deanna rose from the chair and excused herself, heading into the bedroom.

"You say marriage, she isn't wearing a ring," Walker said.

Jean-Luc waved a hand dismissively. "Yet. There have been interruptions and other concerns, and we're not in a hurry. Not to mention Betazoids don't exchange rings. Don't start about this being some parallel universe, either. I've already heard that one from Greg Norman."

"How is Greg? I haven't seen him in a long time."

"He should be on Betazed by now. His third child is about to be born. A son, this time."

Walker harrumphed quietly and glanced over his shoulder. "Did I frighten her away?"

Jean-Luc grinned at that. "Oh, I seriously doubt that. I don't think I've seen her frightened away from anything. Frightened yes, but she was stabbed through the chest in the line of duty recently. A harmless old man like you wouldn't phase her. More than likely she's left us to reminisce."

"You're an old man as well, Jean-Luc," Walker chided. "And she has to have better taste than that."

They were both laughing, when Deanna returned. She walked past the chair, around the table, and sat on the couch with Jean-Luc, at his side. "I think Data may have informed Beverly that your friend is here," she said.

"Mmm, what would make you say that?" he replied, though he knew she likely sensed their friend coming.

"She's excited and coming closer by the second."

Walker did a double-take. "Beverly Howard?"

"Walker introduced Beverly to Jack," Jean-Luc told Deanna. Which was all there was time to say, as the annunciator sounded her arrival.

Once admitted, Beverly ran to Walker, who stood up to greet her -- they embraced like the old friends they were, and Jean-Luc was reminded of his own reunification with her, which had been quite different.

"Walker," Beverly exclaimed, standing back to smile at him. "You haven't changed a bit."

"Oh, really," he guffawed. "If I lose any more hair I'll be looking like this fellow."

[Not a bad goal to have.] Deanna was grinning at Jean-Luc.

"So you going to be the bridesmaid for these two?" Walker returned to his chair, and instead of going to the other easy chair, Beverly sat down in the chair Deanna had abandoned next to his.

"I have a dress. Apparently there's some planning being done, but no one's talking to me about that," Beverly said. "I think the current crisis is taking precedence. What's been happening since the last time we spoke? How are you?"

"You know how it goes in space. This past few months have been challenging. Not knowing how to go about dealing with this conspiracy has worn on me... though if Jean-Luc and the evidence you are collecting are correct, it's more of an invasion." Walker ran his hand over his sparse white hair. "The next step should be finding a counter measure of some kind."

"That's easier said than done," Beverly said with a sigh. "I need one of the creatures for that. A transporter log does not give me enough information."

Deanna turned her head to look at Jean-Luc -- it was a swift movement that caught his attention, and he looked back at her, as he registered the dramatic upswing of concern. Her eyes held a hint of warning.

"Scott to Keel," came the summons. "We've implemented the update on our transporter. But when we approached our CMO about updating sickbay equipment he attacked the first officer."

"Is Kelly all right?" Keel sat up, alarmed.

"He's fine. The CMO is a little beat up, and the rest of the medical staff found something in the base of his neck. You should take a look at this."

Everyone was on their feet at that, and united in their focus -- there was no chatter on the way to the transporter room, and once aboard the _Renegade_ they were intent on getting to sickbay. Tryla Scott was waiting for them with her first officer, Kelly Mathers. Three people in medical blue were around the biobed and alternately staring down at the man restrained there and at the readouts on panels. Beverly's attention went to the panels and stayed there as she went to the biobed.

"That's Dr. Crusher," Jean-Luc said to Captain Scott and Commander Mathers. "And this is Counselor Troi."

"It's not the same," Deanna said.

Beverly, who'd introduced herself to the medical personnel while sizing up the situation, turned back to them with a grim expression. "She's right. This isn't the same. But it is." She reached up and changed the overhead panel to a different view. The outline of the man on the bed and the transparent overlay of his inner systems; there was a white mass over the vertebrae of the neck. "That's a living creature in the neck."

"A different location than we saw before," Jean-Luc commented.

"A variation, but the same," Beverly said.

"Tranquilize it," Deanna exclaimed.

The medical staff exchanged looks. The brunette said, "He's unconscious."

"The host is unconscious. The parasite is not. If there are others aboard it may be contacting them and informing them. Can we remove it?" Deanna asked Beverly.

Being in Starfleet sometimes resulted in sitting back and waiting for the specialists to work. Jean-Luc waited with Walker and the others while Scott and her first officer anxiously debated the doctor's behavior and whether he had shown any signs of being possessed by a parasite.

"Got it," one of Scott's personnel announced excitedly. He glanced at Deanna, now standing at the foot of the biobed. "Right?"

"Yes," Deanna said.

"It takes a phaser set on the highest level of stun, four blasts, to put one of them down," Captain Scott said. "You say that doesn't affect the parasite, so what does?"

"A high dose of dihendrophynaline delivered straight to the tail," Beverly said, waving them over and raising the man's head and shoulders. They all clustered around the head of the biobed to look. There was about an inch of something sticking out of his neck, high up in the shaggy black hair where no doubt it had gone unnoticed for some undetermined time.

"Remmick didn't have one of those." Jean-Luc remembered the irritating man's features. If the tail were positioned in the same way on each person Remmick's would have been fully visible.

"The parasite is too well established against the brain stem to remove it or kill it without permanent brain damage to the host," Beverly said. "But we should be able to target it with the drug. It maintains a separate circulatory system from the host."

Scott studied the face of her CMO. "Can he be awakened then?"

Beverly conferred briefly with her colleagues and one of them hurried away. He returned with a hypo and injected the man on the table. A moment later, while everyone watched in tense silence, his dark brown eyes opened and immediately the man moaned and started to roll his head, roll his eyes, and the young man who'd administered the medication put a hand on his shoulder.

"Doctor, it's all right," he said. "Can you speak?"

Deanna stared at the man's face and came up to the head of the bed. The ensign moved aside, giving her space. "He's very confused," she said.

"Terry," Scott exclaimed. "Terry, it's going to be all right. Can you focus for a minute? Can you tell us anything about what happened to you? Do you remember -- "

"Stop," Deanna said firmly. She locked gazes with the captain for a moment across the biobed, then looked down at the doctor again. "Take a deep breath, Doctor. Think about being at home." The doctor was now staring up at Deanna -- probably wanting to know who she was, as she went on, likely responding to his unspoken question. "I'm Counselor Deanna Troi. I'd like to help you."

The man seemed to be trying, but unable to understand. Jean-Luc glanced at Walker, at the first officer, at Scott, and gave in, though he didn't really want to treat her like a tricorder. "Counselor, can you expedite this?"

Deanna gave him an exasperated look, but refrained from calling him names. "I can try. Can it become less crowded in here?" [Do we need the doctor's story to decide what to do next? This is likely to take some time.]

Jean-Luc turned to Walker, gesturing at the door. "We have a countermeasure -- we should discuss the next move, what we need to do once both vessels have been cleared of infected persons."

"We'll go to a conference room," Scott said, leading the way.

In the corridor they were contacted by Rixx. He'd found someone in his medical department who was infected.

"It's a good thing you came to meet us, Jean-Luc," Walker said in an aside, as Scott invited him to beam over and instructed him to have his CMO contact Dr. Crusher.

"We have to go to Earth," Jean-Luc said when Scott terminated the comm channel.

When Captain Scott looked at him there were no questions in her dark eyes, just determination and woe. "We have to find a way to stop them."

"That should go without saying," Walker said.


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conspiracy gets dumber every time I think about it. The backstory explains a lot of it. It was originally supposed to be about an actual coup inside Starfleet sort of like the one that takes place in Homefront (Deep Space Nine) with Admiral Leighton. Gene didn't like the idea. So the parasite was patched in a plot that probably already suffered some inadequacies.

Deanna found her captain, and the other three, in a conference room on deck two of Captain Scott's ship. The _Renegade_ was smaller than _Enterprise_ and she needed little guidance, having a good sense of where Jean-Luc was. She'd left Beverly in sickbay with Dr. Benson, talking over a comm channel with the CMO of the _Thomas Paine_ who had another two cases of parasitic infection to deal with.

Deanna's head ached, the kind of hollow-feeling, ear-ringing headache she tended to get when she'd been a little too Betazoid for a little too long. The analgesic she'd asked for had taken the edge off.

Inside the conference room, she found the four starship captains waiting with cups in hand -- two coffee, one tea, and Rixx had some beverage that was typical of Bolian food, smelling like something noxious to her nose, but probably quite appealing to Bolian taste buds.

"Counselor, join us," Walker exclaimed, raising an arm to welcome her to the empty chair on his right. "How is Dr. Benson?"

"Resting. I left Dr. Crusher and Dr. McAllister conferring over subspace as there are two more cases on the _Thomas Paine._ I've gleaned as much as I can from Dr. Benson's case. The parasite takes over the resources of the host completely. It may vary from host to host, but the doctor was unaware -- he has lost a lot of time, has no memories of the past two months. Tracking back to the last memory he has would mean he was on starbase 124 when he was given the parasite. He was conferring with other medical personnel at the time, in the base sickbay, which supports the theory that this is avoiding detection by working its way through the medical department."

Deanna spoke as she took a seat, and folded her hands in front of her on the table. Jean-Luc looked across at her with a slight smile that went away as Scott started to respond. "Any clear indication of what they are intending to do? How about a way to defeat them?"

"At this time the only way we've come up with to intervene with infected individuals is stunning them and then tranquilizing the parasite. Since we can then awaken the host and they are able to function somewhat while the parasite is out, we can put them in medical facilities pending treatment. What I do sense are the emotions, primarily an intense sense of purpose and anger when they are confronted. They co-opt the brain of the host and appear to push a simplistic agenda, survival and propagation, while taking advantage of the higher functioning of the more advanced host brain to go about that with more complex capabilities, but without the ability to understand or even access the memories of the host."

"Am I understanding you correctly, that this is a more primitive organism that does not want to dominate the Federation to take advantage of its resources?" Rixx exclaimed. "That they have only basic survival on their agenda?"

"I would view these creatures as a primitive form of the Trill symbiont," Deanna said. "I suspect they might have taken nonsentient creatures as hosts, on their world of origin. And they are not symbiotic in nature. They subsume the host consciousness."

At that point, Jean-Luc asked, "Do you have any suggestions on the next step in dealing with this invasion?"

Three heads turned toward him sharply. Deanna simply nodded and suppressed the smile. Amusement at their reactions wasn't useful. "I think that these creatures are simple, and absent any more complex motives, straightforward enough -- exhibit A being the reaction of each of the three subjects currently in custody. When questions about them were asked directly of the infected host, the creature responds not with subterfuge or pretense but outright denial, and becomes belligerent when asked to submit to tests anyway to clear them. The violent response is easily thwarted by other crew. I doubt there can be more than a handful of these things on any single vessel, and the pattern of odd orders issued by what we could assume are infected admirals is clear enough, they are doing very little to conceal which would also suggest a lack of understanding of more subtle strategies. Simply informing the crew of other vessels would likely cause these creatures to reveal themselves in short order, by becoming violent. Which would result in being put in the brig, or in sickbay, depending."

"You don't think there are more than a few infected? You're assuming that there are not entire crews infected," Scott said.

"What if there are? What will they do that they are not already doing?" Deanna asked.

Walker leaned back and raised his coffee cup. "You don't think they are communicating with each other somehow?"

"They might be. I doubt it makes much difference. Each of the three identified victims became physically combative. They change the personality of the host substantially. Your sickbay personnel, Captain Scott, all remarked that Dr. Benson tends to be standoffish in general. They noticed he was more reclusive than usual but did not see it as very much different than his usual. The two from the _Thomas Paine_  were a Vulcan and one of the ensigns who just transferred aboard so no one knew him well. Starfleet tends to trust each other; the parasites may have learned just enough to kill officers who question or to simply be quiet and make excuses, and avoid detection by selecting hosts that are easily identified as less social. They may be selecting people who are in the process of transferring as well. But the overall patterns observed suggest they aren't sophisticated enough to continue to maneuver undetected, and they are slow learners. We shouldn't give them a chance to learn more."

"Agreed," Rixx exclaimed. He fixed his intense gaze on Jean-Luc. "As we were discussing, we should go straight to Command."

"All of us?" Scott asked.

Jean-Luc thought for a moment as he glanced from face to face around the table. Deanna waited for him to speak, as he seemed to be going along the same thought process she had on the matter. At last, he said, "I have to wonder if three vessels off assignment at the same time wouldn't raise alarms."

Deanna smiled at how difficult they were finding it to not think this way. "We are talking about a six inch insect that attaches to the brain stem of other species and struggles to operate the human body, and cannot navigate Federation social mores. Not Romulans with an organized attack strategy."

"How could it be that Starfleet is being invaded by these creatures?" Rixx exclaimed. "If they are that simple."

"Because no one believes it could be that simple?" Jean-Luc put in. He leaned back as Walker did, crossing his arms. "You're sure about this, Counselor?"

"I asked Dr. Benson to undergo anesthesia, so I could test my theory -- wake up the parasite and determine whether there might be something for me to sense. I don't believe you should be so worried about setting in motion any devious scheme or defensive response. They simply aren't that intelligent."

"All due respect, Counselor, but I have my misgivings about trusting your sixth sense in matters of strategy," Walker said.

"Betazoids have ten senses," Deanna replied. "I was using my ninth. You yourself have more than the rumored five, you know."

The tangential comment brought a snort from Scott. She smirked at Jean-Luc.

"As we keep saying, we can't just wait it out or do nothing at all," Jean-Luc said. "We'll go to Earth. At this point we have sufficient evidence to present to justify it -- the two of you had infected crew. We'll proceed at your best speed, together."

It was as though the other captains were waiting for him to make the decision for them. It broke up the meeting. Jean-Luc invited them all to dinner -- there would be five days of travel time at high warp, they had time to socialize -- but only Walker committed. Rixx departed at once for the transporter room, Walker came with them, Scott broke for her own bridge.

"They'll settle down now that we're under way," Walker said. He slapped Jean-Luc on the shoulder as they approached the _Renegade_ 's transporter room. "Glad you're with us, Johnny."

Jean-Luc led the way in and requested a return to the _Enterprise_ of the attendant, and Walker came with them. Once back aboard their own ship, something Deanna found great relief in though she hadn't thought herself particularly stressed by being away, Walker turned to her.

"You play chess?"

"Which kind?" Deanna asked.

Jean-Luc chuckled and kept walking, into the lift. It drew Walker's attention, but he said, "I prefer the real version -- a board, two sets of pieces, a tumbler of whisky and a decent opponent."

"This is sounding like a challenge," Jean-Luc exclaimed. "Computer, bridge." He smiled at Deanna across the lift. "Why don't you take Walker to our quarters and I'll be along after we're all under way?"

"You're sure you want to leave me alone with her?" Walker asked, in a mischievous tone.

Jean-Luc laughed at that. "You go ahead and try, Walker. I'll bet you a bottle of single malt that she'll beat you at chess before I get there."

"Don't try to give me that cheap stuff."

"It's a Yamazaki." The lift stopped, the door opened, and Jean-Luc left without another word, or a look. The door shut.

"Deck eight," Deanna said. "Captain's quarters."

"I've heard a lot about Betazoids but I've never known one -- met them, yes. I sometimes wonder that there are not more of them in Starfleet," Walker said. He was doing a good job of sounding innocuous and curious and casual. His problem was that he didn't yet understand Betazoids.

"It isn't our habit to travel abroad so often. We are social telepaths, after all."

"So what makes you different that you decided to be a counselor in Starfleet?"

Deanna smiled happily at that. "Curiosity, of course. I'm also half human. My father was in Starfleet."

"And you've been in Starfleet for how long?"

"About six years."

"A six year lieutenant-commander. I'm impressed."

Deanna started to take a step a second before the door opened. "Because counselors typically don't advance in rank so often?"

"There are a great many who spend years at lieutenant, you know. You're a good counselor, otherwise Jean-Luc wouldn't have you. He has quite discriminating tastes."

"He does," she agreed, as he followed her toward her quarters.

Once inside, she got the chess board from one of the shelves behind the desk, and replicated beverages while he set up the board at the table. She placed the ale he'd requested in front of him and sat down with her tea to watch him finish lining up black pawns. Within a few moves, she thought she had him sized up, and started to make more aggressive plays. By the time Jean-Luc walked in they were setting up for a second game.

"We'll be under way shortly," he told them, stopping to watch Walker move a pawn. "You're not going to take your ship with you?"

"Honestly, Jean-Luc, I can tell my first officer what to do from here. I'm beginning to think you're trying to get rid of me. Oh, now, you've distracted me." He sighed as Deanna took his knight, which he'd left completely undefended.

"I warned you. He owes me whisky, doesn't he?"

"He does. When would you like to have dinner?"

"In about an hour. Is he any good at chess?"

Deanna smiled up at Jean-Luc. "He thinks he is. It makes him bold."

"Oh ho," Walker exclaimed, flinging up his hands.

"Here we go," Jean-Luc commented as he headed for the replicator.

The game lasted a little longer than the first, but it was like playing with Data. He had strategies but once he'd used a couple of them she worked around it, using not telepathy or even empathy but her sense of time; she could tell what he was about to do. Out of consideration for his ego she suggested she was hungry and wanted dinner, though Jean-Luc knew better, as they were still very much connected and aware of each other. As she brought plates from the replicator he contacted his first officer and informed him of the way things should be. Within ten minutes the ships went to warp and ostensibly were on a matching course and speed.

"Homeward bound," Walker exclaimed, picking up his fork. "Are you looking forward to it, Jean-Luc? Surely after we take care of this business you'll spend a little time on leave."

"There are some things we might do," Jean-Luc said casually, meeting Deanna's gaze with a canny smile.

She almost commented that it wasn't certain they would succeed, but knew better. This was what officers did, particularly human officers. The Federation probably wouldn't exist without this irrepressible human optimism. So she smiled, and drank a little of the wine Jean-Luc brought out for dinner, and let Walker believe he was being subtle in prying. Until they were on the couch and Walker was trying to push Jean-Luc's buttons a little.

"You said you were marrying her, there's still no ring on that finger," Walker said, pointing from his end of the couch at her.

"Do you want a ring?" Jean-Luc asked.

"If you want to follow that tradition. I don't need jewelry to believe you're committed to me. I can tell you were telling the truth."

That was a little startling to Walker. "You know, he's not your type."

"I'm not interested in you and I don't feel like indulging your teasing," Deanna said, rising. "I'm tired, Jean-Luc. Dealing with Dr. Benson was exhausting. If you'll excuse me, I believe I'll take a bath."

She didn't wait for a response from either of them. After a while, she rose from the lavender-scented tepid water, dried off, and went to bed after brushing out her hair. Jean-Luc came in as she was settling in.

"I don't think I've ever heard you do that before," he said as he started to pull off his uniform, dropping the pips on the dressing table and working at the shirt. "He wasn't expecting a blunt rebuff."

"I'll apologize to him tomorrow if I have to."

Jean-Luc came to the bed in his shorts and stood at his side, looking down at her. "You don't like him."

"Is it required that I like all of your friends? I can be civil, make amends, but I was tired of his disapproval."

"Disapproval?"

"He spent two games of chess and most of the dinner conversation trying to figure me out. He doesn't trust Betazoids, or he doesn't trust me, I am not certain which."

Jean-Luc flipped back the covers and sat, bringing his legs in under the sheet. "I'm uncertain how to respond to that."

"It's not unusual for people who haven't spent much time with Betazoids to misunderstand."

He wasn't certain how to respond. He didn't like it, and felt conflicted.

"You should spend time with your friends. It's all right."

Then realization struck him -- he stared at her with wide eyes. "This is what happened to me, with Senna. She intimidated me. I felt that way, with her. But she never prejudiced Greg against me. She probably said something very similar to him. Walker will come around, Deanna, or he won't come around much."

"I don't intend to persuade you to leave your friends behind, Jean-Luc. They're your friends. I won't interfere any more than you would with my friends."

"We should have real friends," he said, with some distress.

"Then I suppose you will make an effort with mine, and I will make an effort with yours?"

Again, he settled in bed, turned out the lights, and lay there brooding. Deanna sniffed quietly to herself. Her amusement was obvious to him -- she shared her thoughts with a little more effort, and then both of them were smiling together in amusement. Shut up and sleep, he told himself, and she told him. It took a while but he managed to fall asleep with her.

 


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unreasonably stupid plot glitch of the day: why in the episode were we expected to believe that the parasites were only removable when the queen critter was dead? when Riker joins the cadre of creepy worm-eating possessed people, one of them says to him "you were intended for the doctor" as if they can identify each other magically -- but the plot twist is that Riker is not infected, so therefore they are easily fooled into thinking he is one of them because... they can't identify each other? Which is it? 
> 
> Also, that scene where they just walk in that room and Remmick sits there grinning like an evil maniac... completely unprotected, and then lets them destroy him, without any of the other parasites around to keep the queen bug safe? WTF?
> 
> Ugh. Season One.

Jean-Luc noticed over the following two days that he had in fact changed more than he had believed.

Greg had warned him about this.

Walker was being an older version of himself, and it simply wasn't going as Jean-Luc remembered -- he wasn't enjoying Walker's company as much as he'd anticipated. Part of it was the anticipation of the mission, but even that had changed. He was now having to work hard at deciding that Deanna should be on the away team, it made sense, she would know the enemy on sight. She could explain to admirals with more detail her impressions of the parasite, answer questions that he could not. But he didn't want to do it.

They were four hours from Earth, and as he sat down for breakfast with her on the morning of the third day, he wished he could be rid of the dread he felt in the bottom of his stomach. If only to rid her eyes of the woe in them.

"I'm supposed to be testing for my next belt in aikido tonight but I suspect Tasha will postpone the class until the end of this," Deanna said as she picked up a croissant.

"Do you mind if I come watch?"

She blinked, and sat holding the croissant almost at her mouth, staring. "No. Of course not."

"You'll be on the away team, when we get there."

"That would only be logical." She started to eat the croissant. That was somehow reassuring, that it was just what she expected.

"I think this is not going to be an easy mission," he said.

"Starting with the fact that we are technically turning vigilante, and we have no idea how many parasites there are on Earth at the moment. But I think we have a good chance, with the element of surprise."

"Deanna." The rest of it caught in his throat.

She smiled sadly and nodded. They sat silently for a time, passing all their mixed emotions to each other across the table while they finished eating mechanically. She got up first, and with the dishes disposed of, they walked out the door. She'd worn a uniform for the occasion. The corridor was empty as was the lift.

They arrived on the bridge and he displaced Data, who displaced an ensign at ops in turn. Yar and Worf arrived shortly after, and then Will came in, glancing around the bridge and sitting down. "Any news?" he asked.

"Not at all. But we're still off beacon. I anticipate that once we drop out of warp we'll be picked up by the stations outside the orbit of Neptune."

It was exactly as he expected, too. The hours remaining trickled by, punctuated by occasional reports from bridge officers. Will asked for a complete level three diagnostic, which took nearly half an hour, and then the final ten minutes ticked down -- Jean-Luc watched LaForge's fingers move on the helm panel, asking the ship to drop out of warp, and the stars shifted. Neptune of course was not visible, nor other planets; they would only see Mars briefly on their way in, from afar.

"Red alert," Jean-Luc said calmly. "Open a channel to the other three vessels, if you would, Lieutenant."

From above Yar announced, "Channel open, sir."

Rising, he tugged his uniform straight unnecessarily. The main viewer switched to a split-screen showing each of his co-conspirators. All three were grim-faced as he no doubt was. "Last minute updates, or concerns?" he asked. They'd come up with a plan of four different away teams, for four different locations on Earth. The president's office, Starfleet Medical, and after much debate they had decided the third team should go directly to the offices of the chiefs of staff at Command while the fourth would make a broader survey of the larger facility.

"Plenty of concerns, but nothing new," Walker said tiredly. "We're ready."

"Let's get this done," Scott exclaimed. Rixx merely nodded.

"Full impulse to Earth, then," Jean-Luc said. "See you when we're done. _Enterprise,_ out."

The viewer went back to the view of a star field. Jean-Luc stood in the middle of his bridge with crossed arms, anchoring himself in the moment firmly and refusing to replay possibilities in his head. They had run scenarios, but this was real. They'd deal with whatever came up when they faced it.

It was almost disappointing in a way, that nothing happened. They found an orbit synchronous with McKinley Station and as Jean-Luc began to call out away team members, the predictable collection of security officers, Dr. Crusher, and Counselor Troi, along with Mr. Data, Yar announced an incoming transmission from Command.

The face of Admiral Quinn came up on the screen. "Jean-Luc," he exclaimed with some confusion.

"Hello, Greg," Jean-Luc said with a faint smile, pacing a few steps forward. 

"Aren't you supposed to be completing a thorough survey of a planet out in the Nordoff system?" Quinn's tone was unusually casual. They had anticipated angry admirals, not casual and curious ones.

Jean-Luc turned to glance at Deanna -- she was waiting for him to look, darted her eyes toward the view screen and nodded.

"I thought about what you said before," Jean-Luc said, turning to pace the other direction a few steps. 

"What I said before," Quinn echoed. 

"Yes, I'd like to talk to you about it further. Can I meet with you?"

Quinn smiled placidly. "Of course. Beam down and we'll talk about it."

The screen went back to the view of the stars.

"It doesn't take a tricorder to know something is wrong with him," Will said.

"Take care of the ship, Number One. We'll be in touch."

Deanna and Tasha followed him into the lift. The rest of the away team waited in the corridor outside transporter room one. Beverly was as grim-faced as any of them, nervously rubbing her lips together, and Worf cradled a large phaser rifle in his arms like a child.

As they entered he glanced at O'Brien. "You have your coordinates?"

"Aye, sir," O'Brien said crisply.

They arranged themselves on the pad, and moments later they were on the lawn in the enclosed outdoor gardens on the balcony on floor twenty-seven of the building that was Starfleet Command, avoiding all the levels of security they would have faced by going in the front door. Jean-Luc led the group into the building without issue and they passed occasional foot traffic in the corridors without being questioned. Walker had replicated green badges for everyone that resembled the digital tags they issued at the reception desk once you had been cleared for entry. They would fail to protect them if they were actually scanned by security, but this far into the facility that was unlikely. 

He ordered the security officers to wait in the corridor and went in Quinn's office; the assistant in the outer office hardly looked at Beverly or Deanna, smiled pleasantly at Jean-Luc, contacted Quinn and showed them through the door. 

"You've brought friends," Quinn exclaimed, looking at the two with a pleasant smile. He remained seated behind his desk. 

Jean-Luc kept himself composed, though Deanna was pushing caution and anxiety through to him and verifying her earlier identification of Quinn as being infected.

"I believe that you were correct, Greg," he began conversationally. Deanna moved slightly to the right; he glanced at her and saw that she was looking at a star chart on the wall, her hands still behind her back where he knew they concealed a hand phaser.

"Well, good," Quinn exclaimed. After a slight pause he said, "So what now?"

"I would suppose that we begin by asking you what you intend to do next." Jean-Luc waited patiently for a bit.

Quinn finally answered, after watching Deanna's silent consideration of the star chart. Except it wasn't quite an answer. "Do you have a question about that, Lieutenant-Commander?"

"I do," Deanna said. She pointed at a system in the upper left quadrant of the chart. "Is that where you are from?"

There was but a heartbeat to register the anger in Quinn's face -- with blinding speed the man hurdled over the desk, but before he reached her she had the phaser up and firing. He went down after one blast, thanks to the adjustment they'd made to the phaser. Beverly went to the door and let in Tasha and Worf. 

"There's a system marked on that chart," Deanna said. "We should beam the entire chart up to the ship. There are other systems marked. The density of the parasites in this building isn't as high as we feared, I estimate fifty or so. Unaffected people far outnumber them."

Beverly was already across the room and rolling the admiral over on his face to administer the tranquilizer to the parasite. She found the tail above the hairline and pushed the hypo in. After a quick scan with her tricorder, she put it back in the kit and used another hypo on Quinn.

Within minutes he was pushing himself up, sitting groggily on the floor for a moment. He gazed up at Jean-Luc with startled eyes. "What the hell?"

"Greg, what's the last thing you remember?"

Quinn blinked, frowned, looked around the room. "What the hell...."

"Greg. What do you remember?"

Deanna came over and dropped to a knee near him. "Where is Lieutenant Remmick?"

Quinn's face contorted. "That -- stop him," he blurted. "Stop him. He took advantage of me."

"Where is he? He's the one hosting the queen, isn't he?" Deanna asked. One of her theories, after consulting with the biology department and determining the creatures were not capable of reproduction. It would explain why Remmick's version of the organism had been so much larger and located in the abdomen.

Quinn covered his face with both hands. "I don't know. I don't know."

Jean-Luc sighed. "Admiral Quinn, please focus for a moment. We need to know as much as you can tell us about this... infestation."

"I can't remember anything beyond returning from our trip to see you and now, Jean-Luc," he said woefully, dropping his hands and wagging his head. 

Deanna put a hand on his shoulder. "You were right about there being a conspiracy of a sort, Admiral. I don't think a parasite was what you meant, but it accounts for the oddities that we've seen. All those strange orders that sometimes made no sense that you interpreted as being some great conspiracy with some unknown goal, were due to the parasite being unable to fully control or understand what it was receiving from a more complex, more intelligent host. They weren't as organized as you'd expected."

"We're going to put you in our sickbay," Beverly said. "The parasite was put to sleep and we can keep it that way, but we can't remove it just yet."

"Remmick put this in me. You need to stop him."

"We will, Greg. You need to settle down and tell us anything you can, anything you might remember that might help," Jean-Luc said urgently.

Greg's eyes finally focused on his, and then he started to try to stand up. Deanna and Beverly helped him, and kept their hands on his arms. "Remmick was wanting a transfer... he wanted to go into strategic operations," Quinn said. 

"Greg. Ask the computer where he's stationed right now," Jean-Luc said, knowing the computer wouldn't respond to line officers.

Greg took another moment to work through the fogginess that Dr. Benson had described being a problem when he'd first been awakened. When he asked, the computer replied with something quite different than Quinn thought. 

"Picard to Scott." Tryla was at the president's office.

"Scott here." 

"Have you located Lieutenant Remmick? We have reason to suspect he is there."

"Not yet. We'll contact you when we do. Scott out."

"They're coming," Deanna cried urgently, as she projected to him her fear. 

"What?" Yar exclaimed.

Deanna calmed herself again and turned toward the door. "The parasite is starting to wake up -- they must have some limited ability to communicate with each other over short distances, the others in the building are coming and they are all angry."

" _Enterprise_ , beam up Dr. Crusher from these coordinates, plus one," Jean-Luc snapped. Beverly held on to the admiral's arm as she disappeared in a beam of light. Tasha and Worf aimed their phasers at the door.

Deanna went to the door.

"Stop, Troi," Yar exclaimed. But Deanna only leaned out and came back followed by the admiral's assistant.

"Get behind the desk," she told the lieutenant.

"Where is the admiral?" she exclaimed, obeying the order without asking why.

"He required medical attention." Jean-Luc studied her briefly. "How long have you been in this office?"

"Less than a month, sir. I was assigned after Lieutenant Remmick transferred."

Jean-Luc raised his phaser as muted shouting became louder. "I want you to understand we are only stunning them, in self defense," he said.

The melee that followed was short -- within four shots the door was blocked. They then had a brief interlude while the people behind the blocked door unblocked it by pulling the poor stunned officers out of the way, and then those were stunned and pulled out of the way -- the high anxiety diminished somewhat as it became obvious that having a choke point through which the parasites, clearly as stupid as Deanna had guessed, kept trying to push their host bodies to get to them. It was then a matter of having them all beamed up to the ship, into one of the smaller empty cargo holds where security awaited them, along with some of the _Enterprise_ 's medical personnel.

"I think they're all accounted for," Deanna said while they watched the last two vanish in a transporter beam.

"Not a moment too soon, I think the phasers are done for," Tasha commented, looking at Worf's rifle.

"The two of you should beam up as well, then," Jean-Luc said. "Lieutenant Yar can return with a charged weapon momentarily." He passed his depleted phaser to them, as did Deanna, and turned to the admiral's assistant. "Admiral Quinn will likely be on medical leave for an unknown duration -- you should consider yourself on detached duty for the time being. Wait for further orders."

"Yes, sir." The lieutenant looked at them, still alarmed and skittish, and hurried from the office.

Jean-Luc went to the star chart and pulled it from the wall. "You think this has some importance."

"Judging from the way he felt about my scrutiny of it, yes."

"Scott to Picard," came the joyful exclamation of a triumphant starship captain. "We found him. It was a tough battle, there were probably a dozen others trying to keep us from him -- but we got him. The thing tried to escape -- blew the man apart, but we killed it and all the little ones in there with it. Anyone left with a parasite fell down unconscious for a minute, but now we have a few really hurting and confused people, and a lot of stunned ones. We're beaming them up to _Renegade_."

"I expect that will take care of things," Jean-Luc said. "Picard to Keel -- Walker, your status?"

"We're here with the joint chiefs of staff -- surprisingly only one of them had a parasite. He's been stunned, along with a few others at this location."

"Talk to Tryla, she's managed to kill the mother of them all, hopefully that will disable the rest and we'll simply have a lot of explaining to do...."

 

 

 


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So begins the interlude between missions.
> 
> Absent from episodes: fallout, for the people affected by the events of the episode. Including the ones who weren't in Starfleet. How the mission influenced the larger picture sometimes becomes a sequel episode, but most of the early episodes were like this, big stuff happens and then back to normal by the end.
> 
> Conspiracy should have had more fallout.

Jean-Luc came awake slowly with his usual alarm going off -- he rubbed his eyes and ordered the computer to shut it off, his voice rough with sleep. Next to him Deanna moaned a little and stayed put. He realized she was still sound asleep and burrowed beneath the covers, in her usual place against his side. He cleared his throat.

"Picard to bridge -- status."

"Still in orbit and holding position, sir," came Will's calm report. "You have a few messages from admirals and Admiral Quinn is being released from sickbay this morning. Nothing urgent."

"I'll be up shortly."

"Take your time, sir. Bridge out." Will had still been up when they'd beamed up at almost midnight, after too many hours of patiently re-explaining to different admirals what had happened. Both of them had been exhausted. Will, having little to do other than wait, had merely been a bit tired, and obviously had had no trouble getting up this morning.

That there would be a court-martial was a given; a formality, by the end of it all, but there would be one for each of the four captains, for abandoning their post. But the growing pile of dead parasites and the accounts of their victims would be proof that there had been a reason -- in the meantime, there would be some weeks of leave for the crew, while the ship languished and the investigation was in progress. Something they never told cadets -- Starfleet gave you hours of tedium for every moment of excitement. 

"Jean-Luc?" came the soft mumble from the covers.

"Good morning," he said tentatively. He could tell, now that she was awake, that she still had the ringing headache. Sitting up, he reached for the hypo of analgesic Beverly had left for her. "Want a little less head pain?"

She dragged down the covers and he applied the hypo. Her eyes started to open. In the light of the stars shining in the viewports, they were dark crescents in her pale face. "Thanks."

"We don't have to get up right away. Go back to sleep."

"Everything all right?"

"The same as it was. We're probably going to talk to more admirals later, but you're tired."

"So are you." She put her hand to his cheek, as he turned on his side to face her, head on the pillow. "I went to bed before you did. What did you find out on the bridge last night?"

"The last conversation I had was with Admiral Whitaker, who said that there are calls coming from all over Earth. Current estimate is about a thousand infected in this system alone. The parasites seem to have expanded through most of the major worlds -- there were some on Vulcan, Betazed, also Andoria and Benzar, Bolius, and others. And they all appear to have been connected to the one queen organism that is now destroyed so the 'children' are all dying and letting the host wake up to realize they have been co-opted for months. There will be a lot of fallout from this but I think we will be the heroes of the moment."

"I'm glad it's all over. Did Captain Scott find the president?"

"The president and his staff were unexpectedly spared -- there were Starfleet security officers who were compromised, however. And Remmick was one of them." He noticed she was starting to drift and stopped talking.

Deanna closed her eyes and fell asleep smiling, leaving him to ponder and debate with himself. And think about yesterday, the hours of dealing with other officers, watching Deanna start to droop and feeling just as tired as she, tired of answering questions repeatedly to reassure and inform and start the process of trying to get the leave they deserved to recover while others did their jobs, healing the victims of the infestation and restoring order. Beverly would probably be taking teams down to address the many victims in Starfleet Medical and Command, as the number of infected in Medical had been high.

It would be a long time restoring order in Starfleet. Whitaker had said there were a lot of people requesting transfers back to their old assignments. Parasite-induced transfers had upset lives, even caused more than one divorce when the spouse refused to accept the huge change of personality and the transfer of the spouse that disrupted the family. It had appeared to be a grand master plan, all the movement within Starfleet appeared to have some greater purpose, but it remained to be seen whether they would be able to determine what that had been. Many of the orders seemed to have no purpose.

He dreaded another court-martial, no matter how routine and procedural. He dreaded going back down to sit with confused, panicky, or shocked admirals for more of the same. No doubt this would all be hitting the news today, as well. So just staying in bed sounded like a rather excellent idea. Not beaming down, and not having anything to do with Starfleet Command. He knew that wouldn't be possible. Tomorrow, perhaps, or the day after.

The computer chimed, and it took a few seconds to come back from a fantasy of being on a beach in Greece with Deanna and recognize that someone was at the damned door.

It was enough to pull him up out of bed, and while he dove in the closet for a robe Deanna hummed querulously at the absence of her heat source. "It's got to be Quinn, anyone from the crew knows better. I'll be right back."

Running a hand over his head, he went out and let the computer open the door, and it was in fact Gregory Quinn, back in uniform -- at the sight of Jean-Luc in a robe he smiled apologetically. "Jean-Luc. I don't want to intrude, but I hoped -- "

"Come in, come in," Jean-Luc exclaimed, waving him in. 

The admiral didn't sit down, merely hovered in the center of the room, facing him. "I wanted to thank you. I spoke to Whitaker and a few others... it's clear to me that you were at the heart of what finally resolved the problem. Without you the problem would have continued unchecked for who knows how long."

"Without my crew, you mean. Without their insight."

Quinn gazed at him with tired eyes. "Even so. You and your compatriots saved us -- I could see rationalizing that those infected needed to be dealt with more harshly. You had no idea that any of us were redeemable."

"Dr. Crusher seemed to think otherwise, and it would hardly be reasonable to disagree when I have no medical training. You look as tired as I feel, Greg. You should go home. We'll meet for dinner after the shouting is over."

"That sounds like a good idea." Quinn gave him a wavering smile. "You'll bring your lovely companion?"

"If she wants to come. You should be on medical leave, but I expect you'll be at Command with the rest of them. I'll be there as requested, but that hasn't happened just yet."

Quinn nodded. "I'll be in touch."

After the admiral had gone, Jean-Luc took stock, and knew that Deanna was asleep but he was too awake to join her now. So he replicated coffee and sat down at the desk to review the messages Will had claimed were there. They were from old friends, and one was from the JAG office. That would be the efficiency of Starfleet at work, he thought grimly.

But when he opened it, he found that it was more the efficiency of the social network of Starfleet, or possibly the news had jumped at the sudden appearance of the flagship in orbit. It was a personal note from Captain Louvois, asking after his welfare -- a feeler to check the temperature, he suspected.

The bedroom door opened a moment later. "What's wrong?" Deanna asked, hugging her robe around herself as she came over. 

"I suppose I have to admit to myself that it bothers me still," he said ruefully. She stood over him and ran a hand through her unruly hair. He looked down at the monitor again, shaking his head. "I may have told you about Phillipa."

"She's trying to contact you?"

"Apparently she's back in Starfleet, on Earth, and knows we're here."

"What are you going to tell her?" She went to the replicator, across the room. "Why are you feeling guilty?"

"Because I'm pathetic," he said with a laugh, putting his hands to his head. "She never apologized for using what I told her in bed against me in the court-martial. She was probably the first woman since Jenice that I had any thought of a relationship with, and she -- "

When he couldn't go on, Deanna returned with her tea and set it on the desk, and carefully settled in his lap, arms over his shoulders and leaning to kiss him. "Talk to her if you want to. Is the guilt about almost falling for someone who would do that?"

He laughed again, holding her in his arms tightly. "Stop talking."

"Make me."

She made an awkward bundle to maneuver in his lap; she laughed at his attempts and slid off to her feet before accidentally tipping off to the floor. He jumped up to lean in for a kiss, pushing her against the edge of the desk. He had a hand inside her robe on her breast when the computer beeped. 

"Bridge to captain," came Yar's voice.

"Lieutenant," he grumbled, keeping Deanna where she was by putting his arms around her. She lay against his shoulder and waited.

"I have someone named Robert Picard contacting us, asking for you, sir."

It shocked him -- he stepped aside, and Deanna moved around him and waited with her hand on his shoulder. After a short silence he managed, "Put him through, thank you."

A pause ensued. Then a rough male voice with an accent said, "Jean-Luc? Are you there?"

"Yes, Robert. How are you?" It seemed odd, given their last conversation had been hostile and ended with a finality that had led Jean-Luc to think he'd never speak to his brother again.

Another pause. "I saw in the news -- your ship is here, and you saved the world, apparently. I wanted to see if you would like to visit."

"I... haven't met Marie. So I think that I would."

Deanna made a muffled noise and put her arms around his waist. 

"Good, good. So you will be here for dinner."

"Tomorrow," he said, and amended, "because saving the world comes with many debriefings and I expect today will be busy. Also there is the matter of the time difference, I will have to see -- "

"Yes, yes, yes. You can come tomorrow for dinner. We will look forward to seeing you."

"Robert, there is someone I would like to bring."

Another pause. "Someone?"

"Her name is Deanna."

"I see. Then you will bring her with you. Marie and I will look forward to meeting you." Another moment of silence, and then a chirp of a severed connection. 

Deanna was silent, and radiating mirth and happiness.

"Did you have something to do with this?"

"Oh, Jean-Luc," she murmured, kissing his cheek. 

"I'm not going to yell at you."

"I may have sent a note to Marie."

"Why?"

Her sigh tickled the side of his neck. "Because you've become an accomplished diplomat, come to terms with yourself, and there's no reason to think you have to never talk to him again."

"I thought you weren't going to meddle in my relationships with other people."

"You don't have a relationship with him, you said."

"Why are you not an attorney?"

"I like being a psychologist. Come back to bed. Please?"

He suspected that Robert, like him, was allowing himself to be swayed by a woman into doing things he didn't want to do. He found that he did not much care about that, either. 

 

\--------------------

 

 Deanna put on a uniform and ate lunch. Jean-Luc had departed an hour before, after spending a few more hours with her. He hadn't been as upset about her arranging the meeting with his brother as she'd expected, and so she'd been brave enough to ask more questions about his family. The call had come and he went down to meet with assorted admirals, and he'd suggested that she be ready to follow if called upon.

But it didn't happen right away. So she sat at the desk and reviewed her own messages. There were a few from her mother; she converted them to text and glanced through them. Two were the now-habitual chiding missives Mother had been sending for a while now, as she'd calmed down somewhat over the weeks since Deanna had told her what her terms were. One message was just a forwarded invitation to some cousin's wedding. The last made her eyebrows climb. 

She was out the door before she thought about it. In the lift she calmed down, and as she came out on the bridge she'd managed composure. She strolled down to where Will was lounging in the captain's chair, and dropped into her own. 

"Hi, what brings you up here?" he asked. "Not much going on. The captain beamed down with Data and Dr. Crusher an hour ago."

"I just got a message that Mother is on her way to Earth. It's a problem of timing -- apparently that admiralty ball that the captain has been trying to dodge is in two weeks. And she's going to be there, so she's coming in advance, to visit some of the resorts she likes here. If that ship she is on comes anywhere near the _Enterprise_ , or if she pays any attention to the news, she'll know we're here too and she's certain to attempt to board."

Will grinned, but was obviously trying not to be too amused. "What do you want to do?"

"My first impulse is to hide. That might actually work. But you'll be the one who knows where we are, if we vanish off to France or to Greece, or some of the other places he's mentioned we might want to go. We're going to visit his brother tomorrow."

"And so you want me to not tell anyone. I can do that." His grin faded. "He has a brother?"

"He does. And a nephew."

"Huh." Some of the amusement started up again. "So, you'll go on vacation until I call and let you know we're either about to leave orbit, or your mother is? Nice opportunity -- especially if you throw a wedding before you go."

"Do you have any plans with Randi?"

The deflection worked. He'd teased, here and there, but she knew no one had told him. His smile took on a different quality, matching the happiness at the thought. "Sure. I thought I might take her to the central Pacific coast."

"Not Alaska?"

Will shrugged. "That's a little too cold right now for enjoying it much."

Especially if one wanted your companion to remove clothing, Deanna thought. "You should visit the Muir Woods."

"The what?"

"Look it up. I'll see you later." She stood and left the bridge, glancing at the ensign in the back -- no one was at tactical, and ops was also vacant. Just a lieutenant at the helm and a couple of people at ancillary stations. She thought she remembered hearing, through the haze of exhaustion the previous night, that Geordi wanted to visit his father for a few days and Worf had gone to Russia to see his adopted parents.

"Computer, where is Tasha Yar?" she asked, as the lift door closed.

"Lieutenant Yar is in the gymnasium." That stood to reason -- she was probably working out, or helping one of the white belts with their kata prior to the belt testing she'd rescheduled. No matter, there were others to check in with.

"Computer, deck two."

Deanna left the lift and passed her office door, passed the door between hers and Alia's, and when she saw the indicator was green, asked for admittance. If Alia hadn't been present the light would be dark. When the door opened she went in to find Alia staring at her.

"You rarely wear a uniform," she said. She came from behind the desk and crossed the small room.

Deanna sat on the other end of the couch from her. "How are you doing?"

"As well as ever, though most of my clients stopped coming yesterday -- as per usual when there's a red alert. I was just finishing up something and about to leave. Things should be back to normal tomorrow. You were on the away team?"

"Yes. I'm in uniform so I can go down at a moment's notice to talk to admirals, if requested. Are you taking leave?"

Alia waved a hand. "I'm from Centaurus. No family on Earth, and so I thought I would take advantage of the availability of the holodecks."

"Have you ever been on Earth, other than the time at the Academy?"

"Not at all. But I'm all right with that."

Deanna inclined her head as if asking what that was about. "I'm hoping to visit a beach I've been to before -- the sand is so white, the water so blue.... And there's some lovely towns in Greece. Historical towns, preserved and frozen in time for tourists. I also want to go to Paris."

"I've heard of Paris. There's a lot of literature that describes it in romantic terms."

"For good reasons, apparently. I've only been there on the holodeck. That's why I'd like to go."

Alia nodded. "I'm anticipating that most of the crew will go down to experience the sights and give me some time to rest -- I might go to San Francisco for an evening."

"What is it, Alia? I can sense some tension." She could sense more than that, but wasn't going to call out specific emotions.

"I'm just feeling a little overworked lately. There's been a lot of people coming in."

"I know how you feel. And I'm sorry the overflow ends up in your office when there's a crisis." When the senior staff was called upon to be elsewhere, it would fall to Deanna's assistant counselor to handle any of the crew who came in for counseling. "I should pull the statistics for the past six months and request a third counselor. For a crew of more than a thousand, we need more help."

"Thank you." Alia smiled, but still felt an underlying anxiety. "Why don't you usually wear a uniform?"

"When I was aboard the _Tyson_ I found that wearing it brought more tension out than if I didn't. It helped officers relax to not face a fellow officer, or a superior in many cases where I outranked the client. Even if I told them I wasn't there in that capacity they still had that response to the uniform I wore."

"Oh," Alia said. She frowned. "You said I should refer to the captain by name, as well... is this something they taught you at the University of Betazed? I went to school on Vulcan."

It always amazed Deanna, that there could be so many differences -- she knew Alia to be observant and intelligent. She had a difficult time understanding that such things hadn't become a point of discussion in any of the classes in other psychology programs. "There were discussions about nonverbal communication, but so far as clothing goes, or mode of address, that's something I choose based on what I sense. It would make sense for some officers for me to continue using rank. But to put the captain into his role as an officer circumvents the process of counseling on personal matters. He has an intentional divide between the professional and the personal."

"I know. I've thought there must have been some incident in the past that led to his decision to be that way, but the subject hasn't been brought up."

"He's not so unusual in that respect. Every human does it to some degree."

"What do you mean?"

It was another thing that could be difficult -- training differed from one university to the next, especially on matters related to a specific species. Both of them had been trained off Earth, but Deanna suspected that Vulcan universities might have a different perspective on humans than a Betazoid campus that was shared with many species. Not all psychologists could claim equivalent expertise in all things psychological. 

"Humans have a way of compartmentalizing emotional experiences that differs from many other species. In the early stages of the development of human psychological theories there was much controversy about things like multiple personalities, dissociative states -- many theories were developed. But generally we don't look at a human and say they have multiple personalities any more. We say they have different ego states, or emotional parts. In a healthy human they function without such demarcated states -- but they develop almost a separate version of the self for different parts of their lives. They don't experience it as separate, but I can see it and sometimes even sense the change."

"Give me an example of what you mean. I think I understand, but I'd like to know."

"When you go to your cabin and take off the uniform, you feel relaxed. Nothing like you do at the office?"

"Generally, but that's the point of leaving the office."

"Or you feel a different kind of stress, about some message you get. As I did when I read my mother's messages earlier. You enter a different emotional state associated with the environment you are in. If you go all the way home, to the one you grew up in, you probably transition to a similar emotional state -- unless you have a great deal of conflict in your family history, then you go into a very different emotional state when even just thinking about your parents, or siblings, or ex-spouse."

Alia was staring at her as if she'd turned into a Klingon.

"Alia?"

Alia looked down -- it was confusing, the amount of shock and shame she felt.

"This is common, with humans. It also happens to Betazoids to a lesser degree. We tend to be more integrated." It was obvious this was affecting her friend on a personal level. When this happened, talking in the abstract sometimes helped. Deanna could almost sense the shift as she regained control of her feelings.

"I don't -- " Alia closed her mouth after a few seconds of being unable to go on. She looked away, at her copy of an artwork Deanna thought she recognized but couldn't name, a painting of a woman with a mysterious smile. Her hazel eyes were wide and sad. "I don't want to go down to Earth because my mother relocated here from Centaurus ten years ago."

"Oh," Deanna blurted, startled.

Alia gestured vaguely with her hands. "It's ridiculous. I know where she is. But I have this irrational fear that she'll somehow find me if I beam down anywhere else on the planet."

"I'm sorry," Deanna said softly.

"I should have known you would be able to tell."

It was Deanna's turn to stare open-mouthed. "I didn't, Alia. I was simply explaining something I've observed in many people. I had no idea what was upsetting you."

Head bowed, Alia started to settle her feelings and collect herself. "It's difficult to be here."

Deanna had to force herself still, instead of shaking her head at that. "Difficult?"

"I sometimes wish I were Betazoid myself. You make it all look so effortless, working with people. Counseling comes so easily for you."

That time, she wasn't able to contain her reaction -- she laughed in disbelief. "I only wish that it did."

"What do you mean?" Alia clearly didn't believe her at all. It was interesting how, once an opinion was formed, humans had so much difficulty shifting them.

"I had a terrible time when I started my practicum hours. The worst thing you can do is simply tell someone all that you observe. It's overwhelming for clients to know everything they feel. I also had the problem of giving my opinion too often. And when my supervisors corrected me I was angry, hurt, resistant and threatened to quit. I was a terrible therapist for a while."

"But you aren't."

"And neither are you, or you wouldn't be here. But I do wonder, who does the captain remind you of?"

Alia made an exasperated noise and bent forward, putting her hands over her face then balancing her chin on her knuckles. "He doesn't really. I have some difficulty with authority figures. Not in the usual way that's often noted, where I would be rebellious or disrespectful, but I have this nagging sense of failure despite knowing that I am not doing anything wrong."

"Imposter's syndrome is fairly common," Deanna said. But she sensed immediately there was more to it. "This guilt you're feeling, is that connected to it?"

"It's something that's bothered me since I was a child. You can imagine how it was at a Vulcan university but I got through it just the same, because if I don't let the emotion show the Vulcan instructor never knows there's anything amiss. I can usually self correct."

"Maybe you should talk to someone about this while we're here -- perhaps it's something you can work through."

Alia laughed at that with no small amount of incredulity. "In a few weeks, you think I can manage that?"

"There are several techniques I think might help with it."

Deanna gave her a list of recommendations of counselors she knew, including a few in private practice, and Alia gave her a hug before going her way. Deanna ducked into her own office and checked messages, found none that were urgent -- only two new ones, an invitation to a conference and a note from Senna with pictures of the baby -- and headed for her quarters again. She sensed Jean-Luc closer than he was, and more at ease, relieved -- it had to mean he was aboard.

He was in their quarters, in fact, waiting for her. "Everything all right?" he asked as she walked into his arms.

"Yes. I was talking to -- someone, about a few things that needed a referral. How did it go?"

"They've calmed down enough to hear everything, and Data managed to present a more summarized version of his findings. Beverly showed them her records as well. I think we may be done with this phase, so we have a little down time. We'll be beaming down around nine hundred hours tomorrow morning to have dinner with my family."

"I had almost forgotten about the time zones. Are we going to see this little church you were talking about?" She stood back from him, running her hands down his chest.

"We should do that." He had a speculative expression, as he started thinking about that. Deanna liked his smile, when he was like this. "We should go down now."

"Now?"

"To Paris. Yes."

Deanna laughed, couldn't restrain herself and actually danced a few steps. To her surprise he followed her, caught her in his arms, swung her around a couple of times. She blinked at him and laughed again, as she bumped up against the wall and he pressed in for a kiss. He caught her hand and pulled her into the bedroom. "It will be night, the moon will be almost full. Probably chilly. You should wear something warm."

"Are we going to the tower?"

"Among other places."

She chose a sleeveless green dress, mostly basing it on how he reacted to the ones she considered as she pulled them out to look at them. He put on her favorite green sweater and some slacks. They had to replicate coats, and he insisted on a heavier one for her when the one she'd selected wasn't to his liking. When they beamed down it was almost a shock to the system, being in Paris at night with a cold breeze blowing. The city lights were different than the holodeck. She wrapped the coat around herself tightly.

"This way," Jean-Luc murmured, putting his arm around her. He wore a coat as well, and held her close against his side as they walked along the river.

"Is that music?" she said, her breath fogging in front of her face. This wasn't like the holodeck. There was soft music playing, something with a drum accompanying but not like the jazz that Will's small band played in Ten Forward.

"It is. Some of the clubs have live music. Shall we go see about a drink?"

They strolled. The modern Paris was different than the one they wandered in on the holodecks. People everywhere, all wrapped in coats and scarves, and many laughing couples -- he brought them to a stop along the walk and they waited in line outside a restaurant. Le Bistro Parisien, the sign over the door said. Once inside they were led through the crowded, dimly lit interior and she almost stumbled while glancing out the wide windows and ceiling, all clear and showing a wonderful view of the lights, the boats on the river, the Eiffel Tower glowing golden overhead -- and the smells. The bistro interior smelled of the food of other diners, and as they were seated at a small table near the window she leaned to hover her nose over the white flowers in the vase on the table. Roses.

"This was a good idea," she murmured, mindful of the people around them. He smiled in response as he turned to the waiter that arrived as the hostess who had seated them departed. He ordered in French. The waiter departed to put it in, leaving them facing each other with candlelight on their faces and the glow of the tower overhead.

He was happy and yet he thrummed with anticipation of something. The waiter returned with drinks -- he'd remembered she liked amaretto and ordered a mixed drink that included it. He watched her sip before he raised his own, a martini, to his lips.

They were unusual in that they sat quietly and slowly drank. Deanna started to feel the effects of the alcohol before half her drink was gone. She looked up at the faint stars, thinking that one of them must be McKinley Station, and their vessel would be near it. If she looked carefully she could make out people in the windows on one of the lower levels of the Eiffel Tower -- that might be the restaurant they had recreated in the holodeck. She almost asked, but hesitated to request that they go find a place to dance. Everyone knew he hated to dance.

The waiter returned with a platter of edibles and so they ate slowly, and she asked for a glass of water when the waiter stopped by to check if they needed anything else. When she turned back to reach for another stuffed mushroom, there was a small box sitting next to the platter. He was watching her now with an intense expression that made her chest tighten.

Deanna took the box, pulled it open, and stared at the ring inside it. It wasn't gold, or silver, but the color was somewhere in between. There was a single faceted clear stone mounted on it. The candle light caught it and tinted it yellow.

"If you still want to follow my tradition," he murmured.

She tugged it free and set aside the box, then slipped it over the appropriate finger. Smiling shyly, she picked up her glass and finished off the amaretto drink.

When the platter was down to crumbs, she stood up with him. They picked up their coats and he put his own as they went toward the other end of the long bistro, then turned as he reached the door to take hers and hold it for her, something that puzzled her. She put her arms through the sleeves and watched him stop briefly at the register to pay.

Once outside, their breath clouding at their noses, he caught her fingers and walked her down the long sidewalk again. "Where are we going now?" Certainly he wouldn't expect that any of the museums or other attractions would be open so late.

"Do you enjoy dancing?"

The question startled her. "I have in the past. There's been no opportunity since we've been aboard. It's just not something I'm going to do with crew."

He swerved up a walk between rows of lanterns, pushed into a foyer -- there was an automated coat check, which was welcome as it was almost too warm inside. She recognized then that the muted thumping through the wall was music, that they were in a club, and he was pulling her through a door that slid open and a wall of sound assailed them. It shocked her. This was the man she sat in silence with on a daily basis, who told people he didn't dance?

He was incredible. They were but one couple in a crowded club with music that never stopped, simply flowed from one song to the next. Flashing lights sporadically illuminated the room and the people out on the dance floor. It wasn't like Betazed, where dancers would anticipate and move out of the way, but the mostly-human crowd seemed to do well enough at letting couples have just enough space. It caused her some moments of cognitive dissonance when he started to do more than sway and move his arms but being emotionally connected and then moving together seemed to only connect them more. In just two songs they were moving in sync, and he was not just a good dancer but a good partner. They took a break after three songs -- they were long songs, no words, nothing but a beat and electronic instruments. It was obvious as they passed from the dance floor to the dining area with its tables and booths that there was enough technology to dampen the noise so seated couples could rest their ears and converse. He seated her at one of the tiny tables and went to the bar, returned with a couple of drinks, and sat down with her.

"I know why you keep telling people you don't dance," she said over the muted music, reaching back to free her hair from the braid she'd put it in. "You simply don't want to spend a lot of time fending off propositions and flirtations."

He stopped drinking and put down the half-empty glass. "What makes you think so?"

Deanna grinned -- he would keep playing it straight that way. "If anyone on the ship saw you dance like that they wouldn't be able to stop talking about it. Sex in tight pants."

He laughed loudly at it. Ran both his hands over his head, embarrassed just a little, but mostly enjoying himself, enjoying the way she felt. "You aren't so bad yourself," he said, with a tone that she'd never hear on the ship or anywhere near the crew.

"I'm liking that it's late here but I still feel like I could dance all night -- I could learn to enjoy time zones. When do we need to get back?"

"I told Will we would be back tomorrow midday, approximately." He leaned forward, forearms crossed on the table in front of him. "We have a room waiting for us."

"A room? I didn't bring any clothes," she exclaimed, running her fingers through her hair.

"There's a replicator in the room."

"This is where you're making up for all the dates we didn't have, isn't it?"

He grinned that sly grin he would have, when some plan went well. "Maybe."

Deanna leaned farther and kissed him across the table. He responded in kind. It was another oddity, being here in the middle of a club full of people dancing, kissing, even going further than that in some of the booths in the back from what she sensed. And he gave as good as he got -- tongue and all. They parted and he picked up her right hand, looking at the ring.

"You surprise me, Jean-Luc."

"Good. We might be even, if I do it a few more times." Jean-Luc pulled the sweater over his head unexpectedly, revealing a short-sleeved black shirt. It was a nice look for him, showed off his biceps. Much better than the uniform. He draped the sweater over the back of his chair.

"Another surprise."

He sighed at his glass. "This is almost gone. Want another?"

"Among other things."

The heated look he exchanged with her surprised her again; with a canny smile, he took their glasses and went for the bar rather than flagging down the lone waitress. Deanna watched him, and smiled at him as he returned. 

"I'm looking forward to other things as well," he murmured, leaning down to brush his lips across hers before seating himself and placing the drinks on the table.

"You make a splendid waiter, you know. Maybe you're angling for an extravagant gratuity?"

He chuckled at that, and raised his glass. "Here's to the future."

Deanna brought hers up to touch his, rim to rim. "To Mr. and Mrs. Picard."

They drank together, and his eyes stayed fixed on hers as he put his drink down. "So you'll let me know when we've had enough dancing. Because there's moonlight on the Seine, and the hotel is a few blocks away. And I suppose we should get some amount of sleep before meeting with my family tomorrow. I know it's going to mean going to bed around dinnertime, our time."

"Hmm, I think we can find things to do in bed, if we can't sleep right away."

 


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fallout also continues to happen over time - back in We'll Always Have Paris he was thinking about the past, but he would also do that in Paris...
> 
> We never saw LaBarre, so let's pretend it's one of those intentionally backward pockets of Terran life just for people who wanted to live simply. Where else would Robert et al set up shop? Don't expect the Picard home to conform to what's in the post-BOBW episode in this story, by the way.

Deanna moved through the night into the following day with a sense of unreality. It wasn't just the time zone difference at work, though she was certain that played a part. It wasn't the dancing, the drinks or the crowded club -- she'd adjusted to that by immersing herself in the moment. Jean-Luc had become someone she hadn't expected; in between their stints on the dance floor, he'd explained over drinks the weekends that he and his friends spent in Paris, or London, or one of the other major cities of the world made accessible by public transporters and spent many nights dancing and drinking the night away, meeting and leaving young women with no more sense of permanence than he, enjoying his freedom to the fullest, letting himself swing to an extreme opposite of the strict regimented life he'd had with his parents, under his father's watchful eye. He admitted that it had been partially fueled by anger at his father for denying him so much of what he'd wanted to do, but the immersion in that lifestyle had come with a cost. He'd struggled at the Academy for a while, been chided by his mentors including the gardener Boothby, until failing and having to re-take a course had led to an abrupt wake up call.

And then that final summer, when he'd met Jenice and everything changed -- he had spent all that time he would have spent with friends walking along the Seine with her, dancing with her, talking to her, being in love. While he spoke of that time he was sad, but not in the angst-ridden manner that he'd been before the Mannheims came aboard.

They'd left the club around two in the morning, though the music went on and dancers still danced. Finally they were tired and, she noticed, Jean-Luc was actually a little sore and stiff. Bundled up in their coats they turned left on the walk and Jean-Luc led her at a quicker pace than she wanted down to the corner. It was still full dark and the moon was gone, and the lights every fifty feet or so along the street were all they had other than the stars. And it was colder now.

"Do you know much about the history of Paris?" she asked, trying to keep up.

"Oh... this city has an incredible history. Humans have been here in this area since 8000 BC. There have been digs, and with the newer technology they've found evidence underground of settlements that are thousands of years old. Paris was named after the Parisii, a Celtic tribe that settled here and was later overcome by the Romans, but after the fall of the Roman Empire it was occupied by Clovis I, the King of the Franks, who made it his capital in 508. It's been through many wars and the -- Deanna?"

He had noticed her drifting as he spoke. It was as though her attention to what he was saying took her back in time, to the things he named, and the general sense of something very ancient turned into a honed sense of time -- she could feel the past, the people who had been here, and she started to feel disoriented as if she were riding a rough sea in a small boat, tossed around in agonies and ecstasies of humans she would never know. She came back from it abruptly when he grabbed her arm with a little more force than she would have expected. Blinking, she met his concerned eyes, as they stood beneath a streetlamp, and realized she hadn't been aware of walking, or stopping.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"I'm sorry, I was listening to what you were saying and then it was as if the words sent me to the times they represented. I could feel people," she said, sounding off even to her ears -- her uncertainty was audible in the slight wobble in her voice.

He shook his head, deep furrows in his brow, and she recognized the guilt and fear -- and it occurred to her what it was about.

"It doesn't always happen -- I don't connect to the past like that everywhere I go. If I focus on a task or on someone, as we did in the club, I connect to that instead of channeling everyone who died there. But this place has such a long history -- such amazing history, there were artists and musicians and so many others focused on the future and then there were all those who simply lived the moment, enjoyed their lives.... Maybe it's because there is so much here, in the past. It's nothing like it is in San Francisco."

Jean-Luc smiled at that. "Well, San Francisco as a city has only been around since the 1800s. Are you going to be able to sleep? It's late even by our usual clock."

"I'll be fine, if we're together. Tell me the hotel is close?"

The Hôtel Montaigne was indeed close, and once again she found herself held close at his side as they made their way to it. An older man checked them in. She had only a brief impression of the room, lit with a single lamp as they hung up coats, took showers and got ready for bed. She'd become spoiled by the conveniences of Starfleet technology. It took use of a hair dryer to get her curls dried. Sonics would have done it in seconds. The room was colder than she liked, so she sat on the bed in a robe brushing her hair while Jean-Luc was in the bathroom. She'd replicated the brush, as well as some water to drink. The robe had been provided and hanging on the back of the bathroom door.

The sound of the bathroom door swinging wider brought her eyes around, and she smiled at him as he emerged wearing nothing and still drying himself with a towel, running it over his head and shoulders before dropping it on the back of a chair at the table near the window. "We have nothing to get up for in the morning. So if you wish to sleep in...."

"Or not."

He climbed in bed and watched her set aside the brush and the robe, and get in with him, before reaching for the small panel on the nightstand to turn off the light. They spooned together, he kissed the back of her neck through her hair, and she fell asleep as if she were falling off a cliff.

It wasn't unusual for them to dream together, after months of being together it could be interesting to find themselves connected that way. The last time a few days before, Jean-Luc had been dreaming his fears about the issue with the parasites. She'd recognized that it was a dream immediately and been able to redirect it into dreaming about the redwoods, sitting in a clearing with her and a bottle of wine.

This time it was about her -- all about her, and the past, and Paris. For some reason she was standing on the banks of the Seine, wearing odd clothing and doing something she didn't understand -- standing in the shallows with her long hair flying in the wind, listening to distant shouting and great concussions of something immense striking something -- she felt a terrible sense of foreboding, as she raised her hand to keep the bright sun out of her eyes and watched a movement on the distant shore, a long arm flinging something out over the water, and she realized there were walls -- the flying object struck one near the top of the wall and there was another concussion of sound, cries of distress, she saw a long boat in the distance being rowed across toward the other shore and then heard something behind her. Whirling, she felt her heart in her throat as she recognized there was a man -- filthy, with only breeches and boots on, long intertwining tattoos down his arms, a bloody axe dangling from one of his hands. He was bald with a tattoo over his pate. A feral smile showed teeth that had never likely seen a cleaning, yellowed with chipped corners.

And then she was being awakened, racing up to consciousness as if being dragged there forcefully, and she came awake sobbing -- Jean-Luc held her and waited for her to stop feeling terrified. It took just a few minutes, and she sat up. The room had gotten warmer but still felt chilly after the warmth of the covers on the bed. There was some light outside the window, the sky stained with deep orange slowly going yellow.

"I don't understand," she exclaimed at last. "I don't know what that was. Why would I dream that?"

Jean-Luc was alarmed, eyeing her as he sat there against the headboard and the pillows as if about to call for security, and it sent her heart racing again. He reached for her, inviting her in, and she moved again into his arms. When she was breathing normally again and back to sleepy, he said, "I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"I sometimes thought -- " He paused, feeling guilt and some annoyance. "In the past I wished I could visit the past. From now on, I'll be content to read about it. Let's get some clothes and go get some breakfast."

"All right. I guess I'll just be tired all day."

"No, I think we can figure out somewhere else to be, that isn't Paris. I'd rather you didn't have another nightmare you suspect is real."

She watched him go to the replicator near the exit, and start to replicate things. "Did you recognize what was in the dream?"

"The Vikings lay siege to Paris in 885, demanding tribute. They'd done so in previous years but in 885 the city was better defended. The frustrated Vikings pillaged further upriver as far as Burgundy." He brought her a fresh change of underwear, a long-sleeved shirt and pants, some shoes, and went back to the replicator. "Do you know what the Vikings were famous for?"

"I've never heard of them."

"They were violent in battle, as many soldiers of the time could be. The man in your dream probably raped and killed the woman."

Deanna put on the bra and watched him pull a shirt over his head. "Where are we going?"

"Somewhere you won't be subjected to this if you want to take a nap."

"I can't imagine there isn't some way to deal with this -- I've simply never spent a night on any planet with such a history, colonies we've visited haven't had wars. I'll call Senna when we return to the _Enterprise_."

"It suggests that Betazed has been surprisingly non-violent."

They left the hotel a short time later, Jean-Luc carrying a bag over his shoulder -- he'd replicated food, extra clothing, and they'd put on the coats. Stepping out into the early morning Deanna was thankful he'd been taking charge of such things, as her breath immediately began to fog. And then he led her down the street to a bench with a numbered sign next to it, and it didn't take long for one of the buses to show up. The automated, silent vehicles were frequent and similar to what she'd had on Betazed. Jean-Luc selected a destination from a multi-lingual menu on a console and chose one of the double seats near the front.

There were a few people already seated, and one, a young woman in a long coat, took a keen interest in them, even moving up a few seats to sit across the aisle from them. Jean-Luc ignored her. Deanna tried to, but she sat on the aisle and it was a narrow one.

"You're Captain Picard," the woman exclaimed at last in accented Standard. That brought more attention from the people behind them.

Deanna exchanged a glance with him; he scowled, snorted, swung his hand dismissively and answered in forceful French in a forbidding tone. The woman was startled, fell silent, and huddled in her seat, scooting closer to the window.

The bus stopped and took off again a few more times, taking on passengers and letting others off. An older gentleman who took the seat in front of the young woman stared at them openly. As the bus started forward again, he said something in French. Deanna understood 'Capitaine Picard.'

Jean-Luc glared at him and turned again to face forward.

After two more stops, and being recognized two more times, they got off the bus and walked away from the stop and the curious people. "I suppose that would be another reason you dislike leave," she murmured.

"It's easier at night when those who watch the news are less well represented."

They approached a large building -- a transporter station, she thought. The cavernous interior had a circle of public transporter pads. They waited in a short line for one, and Jean-Luc punched in coordinates from memory rather than requiring use of the map that others had used.

They materialized on a street -- more of an alley, she thought, between a couple of buildings and looking out on a tree-bordered street. As he led her forward she noticed he now felt similar trepidation as he'd felt when dealing with her mother. Accepting of the stress, determined, a polite, forced smile in place. But when they turned right along a cobbled sidewalk, nothing happened. The tension eased.

"This is LaBarre," he said, slowing, letting her look around. "The chapel is at the end of the street. What do you think?"

Deanna looked up and down -- it wasn't a broad street as in Paris, probably not for mechanized travel of any kind. The buildings were nothing out of the ordinary. The dozen or so people in sight were either seated in front of a cafe or strolling -- no one seemed to notice them yet. "I like it," she said, letting herself relax a little. "How long has this town been here? It feels younger."

"It is," he said, pleased. "The town was founded by people who wanted to return to more traditional ways of life, about two hundred years ago. My family moved here three generations ago. So you shouldn't feel any sense of impending doom or have nightmares."

They moved on down the street, and he handed her a croissant from their bag of things, taking an apple for himself. Breakfast became a walking feast, and a couple of blocks later they were in front of the chapel. She stopped with him and looked up at the bell tower. "It's smaller than I thought." He'd pointed out a cathedral in Paris; this was nothing like that large stone edifice. The walls appeared to be wood plank.

"Yes, well, there's not much of a congregation any more," he said, stepping up on that first stair. The door swayed open with nary a squeak when he pushed it. Inside, the sunlight filtered through the stained glass window high on the front wall of the church illuminated the interior, as the lights were off. For a few breathless moments Deanna hesitated, staring up at the window -- a woman holding a baby, in bright blues and greens and other colors, a brilliant gold crown upon each of their heads, and more than that the atmosphere of peace and the silence, held her there entranced. She took a step, and another. Her footsteps on the wooden floor sounded loud.

"What do you think?" he said quietly.

Deanna exhaled, listened with several senses, brought her hands to her heart. "It's so warm here," she murmured. "There have been so many happy moments here. A few sad, but nothing angry, or violent. It feels like family here."

"I've only been here a few times, but you're right. This is where weddings and christenings, and funerals, are held. Not everyone -- but it's tradition for many."

She moved slowly up the aisle, and stood at a rail studying the things in the front of the church. There were statues, and candles, and other things she had no name for. Jean-Luc's hand on her back brought her attention to him.

"Hello," came a half-questioning greeting from somewhere in the shadows to their right. They turned as one to find a man wearing a suit approaching. "Do you have any questions?"

"I do," Jean-Luc said. "I was wondering if you still have weddings here."

The blond man smiled. "Of course. Would you like to schedule one? It's not every day tourists wish to be married here, but it's not so unusual."

"Not exactly tourists," Jean-Luc said. "My brother and I were raised at the Chateau du Picard -- he still operates it. We're on our way to visit, and wanted to stop in to see the chapel."

The man gaped. "Then you are Jean-Luc Picard -- I know Robert well. I'm Garrett Dufresne," he exclaimed, coming forward with a hand out. "It's a pleasure to meet you finally."

"This is Deanna Troi," Jean-Luc said. He smiled at her, as his hand slid down into the small of her back. "This is her first visit to France."

Dufresne smiled broadly at her, took her hand in his but not shaking it as he had Jean-Luc's. Instead he brought it to his lips and kissed it. "Mademoiselle."

Deanna took back her hand, bemused, unsure what to say. That amused Jean-Luc, but he addressed the young man. "We would be scheduling the wedding in the next two weeks. We're not on Earth for very long."

"Oh, I heard -- thank you, by the by. For saving us all."

It led to an internal wince on Jean-Luc's part, but he kept up the benign smile and waved a hand. "Part of the job. We'll have a very short list of guests, and likely have the reception at the winery if my brother is amenable."

Deanna followed them into the man's small office, and listened to them talk about details with half an ear -- she was very tired. She turned with a smile when Jean-Luc stood and shook hands again over the man's desk, while excusing them to go.

"You were being unusually silent," he commented as they went down the front steps to the street.

"Perhaps more wedding trauma. Or perhaps I think you're doing a fine job at planning the wedding without me." She smiled merrily at him. "Do you have another apple?"

They grazed on the food he'd thrown in the bag as they went along. Within another block the buildings were less frequent, then they were walking along a lane between houses and their large yards. And gradually those became larger plots of land, homes set back from the fence along the lane. There were signs, but the words were meaningless to her, street names but of course she had no idea what street to look for. Jean-Luc turned left up a side lane and they walked between rows of trees; on the right was a tall wood fence, on the left a stone wall. And then he turned left again, went up and over the wall on some steps that she wouldn't have expected.

"Aren't fences supposed to keep people out?"

"The wall is to keep out livestock. This is the bottom of the property," he said, walking back along the rows of vines to the end. She followed him up between rows of grapevines and was about to ask when they arrived in an open area. There were a couple of stacks of crates, and an open grassy area. A gap in the vines went straight up the gentle slope -- a road? But it was grassy, not paved.

"What are we doing?"

Jean-Luc took out a blanket he'd replicated and shook it out. "It's still early in the day. Plenty of time to sit and enjoy the sun."

"We're not trespassing?"

"No, this is all part of the family property." He gave her a hand and eased her down to sit on the blanket, dropped down next to her, and reached in the bag again. He'd thought of everything -- sunscreen, some bread and cheese, and water bottles. She felt at ease, let her hair down and used the bag as a pillow, curling up on her side next to him on the blanket and letting him feed her slivers of cheese.

They were sprawled together on the blanket asleep when she sensed someone -- on the ship, she never let it disturb her, as there were always people close by; it was the nature of a starship. But here in the open it registered as a potential threat, and so she woke and peered through her lashes at the sky, slowly scanning, and a shadow fell across her. She blinked up at a man wearing a broad-brimmed hat, frowning down at her.

Deanna held up a hand to shade her eyes and smiled a little. He had Jean-Luc's nose and chin. She sat up, then rose to her feet smoothly and held out a hand. "Hello, Robert."

His eyes flicked to Jean-Luc, who was starting to wake up, then back to her face. A smile broke the scowl away. He took her hand, and didn't raise it to his lips, thankfully. "You would be Deanna, then. So this miscreant would be my brother, I suppose."

By this time Jean-Luc had sat up and was tolerating this with two parts amusement, one part begrudging, hesitant affection. "I suppose you're here to throw us off the property for trespassing."

"Usually it's the Durand boys climbing in to get their toy starship, breaking the sensor net, but they don't tend to stay in here for more than an hour."

Jean-Luc came to his feet and glanced at Deanna -- she smiled at him, trying to reassure -- then did a double take. "Sensor net?"

"Oh, don't start," Robert scoffed. "Just because we don't care to run off to the edges of the galaxy doesn't mean we can't make things easier. Have to keep the tourists out somehow. Brazen things come marching right up in the vines to the house, asking when the tour starts. Well, come on then!" He held out his arms.

Deanna watched them come together, watched Jean-Luc Picard become a brother who would hug another man and kiss his cheeks, hold his brother by the shoulders and smile. When Robert turned back to her, almost hesitant, she smiled and held out her arms as well. Robert kissed her cheeks with more enthusiasm than he had Jean-Luc's.

"You are welcome here, my dear," he said without a hint of ire. "Come along to the house."

"We're hours ahead of schedule," Jean-Luc said in protest. "We only came along because she was having difficulty sleeping in the hotel in Paris. The time difference is nine hours ahead -- by our internal clocks it's still four in the morning."

"Then bring her up to the house and we'll give her a proper bed," Robert scolded, cuffing Jean-Luc's arm. "Idiot. Making a lovely lady sleep on the ground."

"I've slept in worse places," she commented, thinking about a particular mission where they'd been stuck in one of the smaller shuttles for an extended period. "It's been lovely sleeping in the sun. Warm."

"She's a bit of a reptile," Jean-Luc said, gathering up the blanket to stuff it back in the bag.

Deanna started to follow them up the hill between the vines. Her shoe, though not heeled or in any way precarious, slipped on something -- she stumbled and found herself caught by the arms by both of them. And then they were escorting her up the hill as if she needed the help.

"This is a long walk," she commented at the first break in the terrain -- another grassy road, this one bisecting the first. They turned her to the right along it, and in the distance she saw a fence of vertical posts.

"I know you're tired, but it's just a little farther." Jean-Luc wasn't so alert either, but she suspected he had developed a remarkable talent for appearing normal while tired many red alerts ago. "We met Dufresne, at the chapel on the way in."

Robert's chuckle was a sharp stacatto. "Well, so did you set a date for the wedding?" It was a tease, but Jean-Luc didn't realize perhaps that she hadn't told Marie about their engagement.

"A week or two. Likely we'll be leaving orbit within the month."

"What a strange thing, that you'd come all the way back here for your wedding -- don't they let you get married on ships?" Robert crabbed.

Deanna almost laughed at it. The cranky facade wasn't very convincing, when he couldn't stop smiling. He also felt a hesitant sort of happiness at having them there. He'd been surprised that his teasing didn't push a button. "The captain usually performs the wedding."

They reached the fence, and Robert pulled open a narrow gate, gestured through it. Jean-Luc let her go first, guiding her with a hand on her shoulder, and she turned to give him a puzzled look. "Tradition," he said, as if that said it all.

"What tradition?" She was used to following the captain everywhere.

"Modern folk don't believe in such things, I suppose," Robert grumbled. He slid the gate shut behind Jean-Luc. "Here in our backwards little town, we let ladies precede us, open doors for them, be respectful to them."

"On Betazed the men go first, to clear the way for the women," she replied with a sweep of her arm. "You never know what danger lies ahead."

Robert laughed at it, a sudden staccato -- she had shocked him. Jean-Luc grinned at her and took his usual place at her side. Robert walked on her right.

"Betazed is the world where they are all telepathic? You are from there?"

"My mother is. My father is from Great Britain -- Glasgow, to be precise. Though I've never been there and don't believe I have any living relatives on Earth at this point."

That surprised both of them, and so the walk down a tree-lined lane was in silence. They turned along with the path, veering right, and now there were bushes, and flowers, and then they were walking along the front of a large stone house -- multiple stories, and tall arched windows, and chimneys. It reminded Deanna somewhat of the cathedral in Paris. They came to a halt at broad steps that would take them up to a double door. Deanna looked up at the house and frowned.

"It's smaller than I expected," she said offhandedly.

"I suppose your ancestral home is bigger," Robert said, hiding his surprise at the remark.

"The Fifth House of Betazed housed our local population once, when the floods inundated our local town. It's situated on a hill, instead of in the lower fields as the town was. We had to move some of the furniture to make room for the livestock, though."

"Marie will be in the kitchen," Robert said. He seemed to shake himself and went up the steps. "I'll just go ahead and make sure there are no blackguards or thieves hiding in the curtains?"

"I think that means he likes you," Jean-Luc said, stepping up with her.

Robert flung open the door, and then he started to shout. "MARIE! RENE! They're here!"

The foyer had a vaulted ceiling, and black and white tile. That was as much as Deanna got to notice, before a boy raced in from a door to the right and skidded to a stop. He was all eyes for Jean-Luc, grinning and barely able to contain himself.

"This is your nephew, Rene," Robert said, putting a hand on his son's shoulder. "That's your uncle, and this is Deanna, your soon-to-be aunt."

"Nice to meet you," Rene exclaimed joyfully. "Can we go -- do you have your starship here? Can we see it? Please?"

Robert rolled his eyes. "We've been hearing about starships for a year now, this one's mad about them. He can probably tell you all about yours."

"Well," Jean-Luc exclaimed, and appeared to be at a loss.

"We could go after dinner," Deanna volunteered.

It was as though both men understood what that meant -- combining the two worlds might be difficult for Jean-Luc, she knew, but hadn't imagined that Robert would understand that. But he watched his brother struggle with it in silence.

Deanna took his hand, getting his attention, looking him in the eye. "Captain," she said deliberately, but smiled at him warmly.

"Yes," he said at once. "If you want. Although it's a very large ship, but we can visit the most important areas."

"I suppose you have those transporter devices," Robert grumbled. "Steal us up from our doorstep."

"You are the most amazing cranky old man," Deanna announced. "As if you haven't used a transporter before! I suppose you expect me to believe you walk to Paris, or any of the other places you go to sell your wine or drink with your friends?"

That led to incredulous laughter from both men, and Rene joining in and hugging his father because he wasn't sure what else to do. The lady of the house arrived through the same door through which Rene had come, and her face lit up with joy at the sight of them. Since the men were still laughing she came at Deanna with outstretched arms and found herself embracing her future sister-in-law.

"Marie, they're tired -- they were in the southwest corner of the vineyard asleep."

Which led to being ushered to a room to the dismay of Rene, and Marie insisted that they make themselves at home -- rattled off instructions as to where the kitchen was, since she would be there baking a pie and preparing dinner, kissed Jean-Luc on the cheek, and left them in a bedroom much larger than the hotel room they'd been in, with a comfortably appointed bed -- everything was in greens and cream, and the window overlooked the front yard and part of the vineyard. She toed off her shoes and climbed in without delay, her eyes feeling itchy and tired.

"Welcome home," Jean-Luc said, sitting down next to her. "How does it feel to you?"

It took a moment to recognize what he meant. She smiled, relaxed her guard, and nodded. "I'm fine. Don't you want to nap too?"

"I'll be back in a minute. I need to use the bathroom."

She fell asleep before he came back.


	35. Chapter 35

Jean-Luc left Deanna sleeping and went downstairs, pausing here and there along the staircase to look at old portraits of family members. His grandmother, his mother -- he didn't linger at the one of he and Robert as boys. 

The house had seen some changes, probably Marie's influence. His father's taste for burgundy no longer dominated the decor. Each room had its own theme, and as he came in the dining room he decided he preferred the newer version. Heavy dark-stained wood had been replaced by oak furnishings with green and red cushions; the old cabinetry had been replaced with oak, or possibly ash, wood shelving. Fresh paint had been applied throughout the house, and the walls in the common areas were either blue or some combination of blue and yellow and white. Very bright, and the curtains were gone, replaced by the same automated windows as the hotel had had -- a small control panel would allow occupants to tint or render the window pains opaque as desired. 

The kitchen and its less formal dining area in an alcove surrounded by a bay window were similarly appointed. Marie was making something, bowls and implements and canisters out on the counter, and this part of the house smelled like an apple pie baking.

Robert was sitting in the alcove holding a padd, a white mug sitting in front of him on the table. He waggled it at Jean-Luc. "We're looking at upgrades for the cellar. Always something to do with a winery and a house this size. How is your lovely lady doing?"

"Still asleep. I must have kept her out too long. Paris," he said, pulling out a chair to sit.

"Would you like some tea?" Marie sang out from around the corner. "I just made a pot."

"Only if you join us," Jean-Luc said.

She brought the tray around, and poured a cup for the two of them. Marie was lovely, given to quick smiles and affectionate touches on his arm as she spoke. She laid her hand on his wrist briefly as she said, "I'm so glad you came. I've asked Robert so many times to contact you."

"I'm sorry that I didn't respond to your message when Rene was born," Jean-Luc said. 

Robert snorted. It got him a glare from his wife. "Stop that."

"He's sorry now," Robert grumbled. 

"Yes, I am. For several reasons. Why didn't you contact me?"

The challenge brought a flicker of ire to Robert's eyes, but he gave a thin-lipped smile and picked up his mug. "I almost did. I almost did it again, when Rene started to ask about the uncle in the photo albums. Why don't you ever visit, he asked. And I thought about how you used to be, and didn't see anything that made me think you would be any more comfortable with children than you were. I'll never forget when the Morrison woman handed you that baby, anyone would think the child was radioactive, how quickly you passed him back over to his mother."

"He's older now, I'm sure he's changed nearly as much as you," Marie said firmly. Her stare was full of warning.

Robert nodded, keeping his eyes down. An alarm started to beep softly, and she jumped up to run back to the kitchen; they could hear the oven door opening. Robert smirked and rolled his eyes in the direction of the sound.

"I was surprised to hear you'd had a child. You were no more comfortable with them than I was," Jean-Luc said. His brother was older than he. It hadn't been something they'd ever talked about -- other than the general pronouncement that Robert intended to keep up the winery after their father died, there'd been no indication he had a plan to marry and have children.

"You learn to adjust, if she wants it." But the smile said Robert enjoyed parenthood. "He's a good boy. Very hard worker, studies every day. Of course he's got this idea, as you did, that the best thing to do is join Starfleet."

"I'd expect more feeling on the matter from you," Jean-Luc commented.

Marie returned to the chair between them, at the corner of the table. "Being a father changes you," she said. "Maybe you'll find that out for yourself?"

Jean-Luc sighed. He was surprised to find, however, that the suggestion no longer inspired anxiety. At least not a lot of it. "I'm not sure. Though the _Enterprise_ has families aboard. She doesn't want to talk about that just yet."

" _She_ doesn't?" Robert clearly didn't believe that. He waved a finger at Marie. "You were all about having a baby almost the minute we were engaged!"

"Dear, you might have noticed she's a little younger than I am," Marie countered in a mild tone that suggested her husband's ire was not so serious as all that. "Some of us don't appreciate labor beyond the age of sixty."

"Betazoids age differently. We have a friend, Senna, who just had a baby -- she's at least as old as I am," Jean-Luc said. "And they do think about things a little differently than we do."

"So you were talking about having children, and she did not want to?" Marie asked. Her bright smile and happy brown eyes held not a trace of sly wit. Robert grinned at that.

"It may have come up while we were discussing marriage."

"Hmm, I think someone might have figured out that Starfleet isn't all he wants in life." Robert's grin eased into a smirk. "So you met her on your ship, and something about her was so different that you think she will be perfect for you?"

"Well, I -- " He paused. While asleep Deanna projected no emotions to him, at least none he could detect while he was awake. He knew she had awakened when annoyance came to him, loud and clear, and he wondered what it could be. "In essence, yes, that's true," he continued.

"I like her," Robert pronounced as if his deciding this would somehow be important. "You need someone who will tell you when you're being a jackass."

Jean-Luc stopped his first reaction to that -- when they were younger it had always seemed to be Robert's self-appointed mission to do that, loudly and angrily, and so much of what he'd said had been prophetic that it hurt twice over to think about it. "Yes, well, she may do that but she is able to do it in a way that we don't end up in a fist fight."

A slide of shoe on hardwood flooring behind him alerted him to her approach. "Jean-Luc?" she called out plaintively. Her hair had an amazing talent to become incredibly mussed when she napped, even if only for a couple of hours. She was still half asleep, walking in that wandering way with swollen eyelids and peering around for him. He turned to pull out the chair on his left slightly and she honed in on it.  "Hi," she mumbled, leaning across the small gap between them to butt his shoulder with her head. He had to put an arm around her to keep her from sliding to the floor. She tossed something on the table in front of him, explaining her appearance -- his comm badge, which had been affixed to the inside of the bag. It clattered to a stop face up and chirped quietly in the manner of a badge that the computer continued to attempt contact when its owner wasn't immediately responsive.

He snatched it up and clapped it to his shoulder. "Picard here?"

"Captain," Will's warm voice filled the space. Happy that he finally responded. "Sorry to disturb you."

"Number one?"

"You have a lot of messages and one admiral tried to contact you -- Admiral Golden tried to tell me it was urgent without saying so, if you know what I mean. And Deanna's mother is trying to reach her, not leaving messages, Tasha keeps telling her Deanna is on vacation and doesn't have her communicator with her so now she's prying to see where on Earth you are."

"I don't suppose there are any active volcanoes anywhere?"

Robert snorted, and Will's muffled guffaw was loud and clear. Deanna was somewhat amused, though she was still drowsy.

"We'll be back from the South Pole in a few hours. Ignore Golden's histrionics. Picard out." He watched Deanna drink some of his tea. "You want some coffee? A hairbrush?"

Deanna's hand went into her messy curls self-consciously. She sat back and peered at him through her eyelashes. "Coffee?"

"I'll get you some, dear." Marie was up and whisking around to the kitchen, where she asked for a cup of coffee.

"You have a replicator," Jean-Luc exclaimed. Somehow the way Marie was cooking had led him to expect otherwise.

Marie returned and placed the cup in front of Deanna, touching her shoulder before returning to her own chair. "And why wouldn't we?"

Jean-Luc gazed at Robert almost accusingly. He shrugged, rolled his eyes toward Marie, and sipped his beverage, whatever it was. "We've all changed," he said over the rim of his cup.

"So we have." Jean-Luc turned to watch Deanna sipping black coffee and making a face. He took the sugar and creamer from the tea tray and moved it in front of her. "Dee, wake up."

"Fuck off," she grumbled.

"Here we go," he said, picking up his tea. "Five minutes of fuckery."

"Why can't Mother leave me alone?" Deanna mumbled into her cup. "I leave her alone. I don't tell her what to do. Why can't she mind her fucking business?"

"She'll be like this when she's asleep and trying not to be," Jean-Luc explained, hoping to ease the concern in Marie's face. "Sometimes. I think the club was a little more than she bargained for."

"You took her dancing? Oh, my, old man, you are daring," Robert exclaimed. "And no one tried to entice her away from you?"

Jean-Luc smiled at the squinting Betazoid leaning over her coffee, still wearing the rumpled clothing she'd arrived in. "Did you notice anyone flirting with you in the club?"

"Hmm?" Deanna drank coffee. "Do you really want to know? Remember who you are asking."

"I didn't ask how many you sensed had an interest, I said flirting."

"None, because it was obvious I had no interest. I was with you, remember." Deanna seemed a little more alert now. "What are we discussing?"

"We were catching up a little," Jean-Luc commented. "Robert was just offering me a few cases of wine to take with us when we leave, as a wedding present." Wishful thinking and teasing, and Robert smirked at it.

"Wedding?" Marie gasped. "How is it I do not know about this?"

Robert rolled his eyes again as if to say, 'here we go.' "I'm going to take Jean-Luc out to select some of that wine, I think, and leave you to chat about dresses."

Deanna frowned at his statement. "Why would I want to talk about dresses? I already have one."

"Deanna," Jean-Luc chided. Of course, it made no difference.

"Go talk to your brother if you like, Robert, you don't need to hide behind excuses," Deanna said. "I'd like to spend time with Marie, but I'm sure we'll be able to find something to talk about without your help."

Robert's shock lasted a few seconds, until a grin broke across his face. He swore a little under his breath.

"In case you're having difficulty interpreting, she's not likely to approve of traditional human attitudes about gender," Jean-Luc said calmly. "I would actually like to see the winery, however."

Robert left his mug and came around the table to stand behind Deanna's chair. "I'll do better, my dear. I hope you'll forgive my tendency to appreciate you as a lady."

Deanna leaned a little to smile up at him. "All right."

He patted her shoulder fondly and started to leave. "Come on, y'awd asshole."

"Robert," Marie scolded.

"Takes one to know one," Jean-Luc told her as he pushed back his chair. "I'll be back in a bit. Hopefully you'll be awake by then," he told Deanna, leaning down to kiss her scalp as he went by.

The winery had been upgraded as the house had. Robert led him through the halls to the side of the house that held the tasting room, where people would be received to taste the various vintages offered -- he brought out bottles from under the bar and took a couple of glasses from the rack to pour a little wine for each of them.

"I'll let you do a flight, and you can pick which ones you prefer." 

"You won't just give up a case of each? Pity."

Robert chuckled at that. "We have quite a few varieties now -- not sure you want to fill up the space on your ship with cases of wine. I am informed by an expert that starship personnel have limited room allotted for personal items."

Jean-Luc laughed at that. "Rene must be reading the propaganda for new recruits. It's my ship, and there's plenty of room." He sipped the red and frowned. "What is this?"

"It's a blend. Too sweet for my taste as well." Robert put a stopper in the bottle and moved it aside, watched him pour the tiny amount of leftover wine away down the hole in the middle of the bar, then chose another bottle. "This will be better."

Jean-Luc watched him pour about an ounce in his glass. "She honestly thinks about things differently. Betazed is matriarchal, historically speaking. She's fending off her mother for a lot of reasons, and we should be thankful -- she's likely to insist on a Betazoid wedding, and those are usually conducted in the nude."

He'd timed it well -- Robert almost spat the mouthful of wine, recovered quickly, and glared briefly. "Of course, you have to pull that out before I can start to complain about the difficulties we had with Marie's mother, when planning the wedding. Your competitive nature once again -- when will you ever stop trying to one-up everything I am about to say?"

He was laughing almost before Robert ended the sentence. Robert joined him in chuckling at the intentional ridiculousness. "We were that bad, weren't we?"

"Worse." Robert took another sip of the red they were trying. "Do you like the Zinfandel?"

"Not as much as Deanna will."

"Two cases, then."

"I see you're playing favorites. Or am I to have three of the ones I like?"

Robert reached under the bar and brought up another bottle. "Maybe three of your favorite, and one of the rest. I'm glad you chose someone I like. It makes it easier to like you, a little."

"I was just thinking the same about Marie."

Robert poured the next wine, and seemed to be thinking about something a little more serious. He watched Jean-Luc taste the new red, and nodded. 

"This is a Sangiovese?" 

"It is. Good that you haven't lost your palate." Robert sipped, and humphed. "Not the best year. There are better ones in the cellar."

"Isn't that an Italian grape?"

Robert nodded. "Well, yes, but it's good wine."

"I'm glad you called me, you know. I was expecting Deanna to nag me into doing it first."

"I've been trying to think of how to go about it for months. Marie would tell me to just call, as if she knew it would be fine if I did."

Jean-Luc snorted at that. "Fine pair of idiots we've been. Let's have something new, shall we?"

"Marie will want the Cabernet Franc to go with the roast she has in the oven. We'll get the Viognier."

 

\--------------------

 

"You're doing so well with Robert," Marie said. She hadn't stopped smiling since the men had gone. She had a sweet smile, with a dimple, and her eyes were warm and happy. They were standing in the kitchen, and since she couldn't cook Deanna was watching her hostess put ingredients in a bowl to make something she'd called a _Bavarois_. 

"What?"

"Oh, he puts on this crusty old man persona -- starts opening doors for women, being very old-fashioned with them, charms them. You don't let him get away with it. He likes it. He told me while you were napping that he likes you already, and he generally doesn't -- he's very tired of new people, because of the tourists. Even though they buy the wine. He'd be happy just the two of us living here by ourselves if he could."

Deanna watched her mix the contents of the bowl with a spoon. "You enjoy cooking?"

"I enjoy trying to," Marie said with apologetic humor. "It doesn't always turn out the way it should. I've tried many things the old way, some things are more enjoyable than others. Some mornings I just want a coffee without delays and so we have the replicator -- it was so necessary when we had Rene, a baby takes up so much of our attention and being able to have something we need without going all the way into the village helped immensely."

Deanna sipped her second cup of coffee and took note of Marie's curiosity that went unspoken. "I think we might have a child. But it would probably mean leaving the ship. I don't know whether Jean-Luc would be able to manage with a child of his own aboard."

Marie shot her a sympathetic glance. She put down the bowl, wiped her hands on the flour-dusted white apron she wore over the plain dress, and gestured for Deanna to follow. They went across the house to a living room, obviously where the family spent time, with comfortable modern furnishings and some of Rene's toys -- a partially-constructed starship model sat on the table in the corner. Rene was there, working on a padd, and he grinned when they came in.

"Are you done with your homework?" Marie asked. 

"Almost, Mama."

"I'm going to show Deanna some of the pictures. You can join us when you're finished."

"Is Uncle going to come too?"

Marie smiled in resignation at the quiver of excitement in Rene's voice. "He's with Papa in the tasting room, I think, talking about wine."

"Can I go too?"

"If that's what you want," Marie said, and then the padd was falling to the table with a clatter and Rene was racing from the room. "When you are finished," Marie called out after the fact, but the boy-shaped blur was gone. 

"Such a single-minded young man," Deanna said with a smile. 

Marie was pulling an album from the large bookcase that occupied most of the wall. She sat on a long blue sofa with a lattice print on it, and waved Deanna over. She opened the album to the back, and showed a series of pictures of Robert with a tiny baby that had to be Rene. The adoration and pride in his face was unmistakable. Deanna held her breath -- the brothers looked that much alike that it was easy to imagine what that would be like for Jean-Luc.

"So how long was he happy like that before the panic set in?" Deanna asked, tapping on one of the pictures.

Marie started to laugh; she had a high, merry laugh with an occasional wheeze. "Oh, yes. A few hours after we brought him home. We were both terrified. Rene was such a well-tended baby, every snuffle and sigh and Robert was there."

"I've worked with many mothers, over the years. Many of them first time parents. It can be so difficult for them and then to have well-meaning friends dishing out advice can double it. Even though there are many good resources for them."

Marie studied her anew. "I'm sorry, but Jean-Luc did not mention what it is you do. I know you are an officer aboard his ship."

"I'm the ship's counselor. I assess and monitor the mental health of the crew, and the civilian crew. I provide services where needed, and there is an assistant counselor that helps me."

"Oh," Marie said. She hadn't expected that. "How long have you been together?"

"Almost five months. Why does that surprise you?" 

"It shouldn't, perhaps, but it's not always so fast -- are you sure about marrying him?" Marie hesitated, but came to a conclusion and went ahead anyway. "It's just that I would expect a counselor to not be so willing to jump in so quickly."

"Perhaps I would not recommend it to others," Deanna agreed. "However, it's a little different for me than for a human, in relationships."

Marie frowned. "I'd like to know more about that, if you're willing to explain. I'm not at all familiar with Betazeds."

"Betazoids. I am an empath. Sometimes I can be telepathic. When Betazoids are sure of someone, it doesn't matter whether they know them for days, or months, or years. And it doesn't have to take very long to be sure." Deanna picked a photo out of the album from a few pages before the baby pictures and studied it. This one was a wedding picture of Marie and Robert. "How long did it take Robert to be sure of you?"

Marie smiled, delighted with this. "Not as long as it took me."

"I think they are more alike than they want to be."

A distant alarm went off, echoing through the house. Marie closed the album and set it aside, rising to her feet. "We should go. That should be the alarm for the roast, it should be done. We'll set the table and you can help me get everything ready."

"All right," Deanna said, following her back to the kitchen. She was looking forward to the meal, now that it was obvious that the Picard brothers were reconciled. They were both apparently getting tipsy, from what she could sense.


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This references a later episode - season 3 or 4? Measure of a Man - where yet another of JL's old girlfriends appears and makes life interesting. Their interaction was most interesting in the episode. In this story it becomes consistent with the part of the backstory that I added to the scant information in canon about that past.

"Deanna?" he asked as they entered their quarters on the _Enterprise_ at last. They had returned from their time with his family and she'd been looking tired since dessert.

She turned to face him as the door closed behind him. There was still a little weariness around her eyes, and more directly he could tell she was still suffering the time zone changes. She'd changed at the house -- replicated a green dress very similar to the one Marie had worn -- and put up her hair, but if she stopped smiling she looked tired. 

"It's fourteen hundred hours. I'm going up to check in with the bridge and look through messages."

"I'm sure I should check my own messages and perhaps respond to a few. I think I need more sleep, though."

"I think you're right, and I should probably plan to get to bed early myself. Fortunately we'll be able to do that. I'll be back in a few hours, so we can have... whatever we're going to call dinner today, since we had one just a few hours ago."

She smiled and leaned to kiss him good-bye, and headed for the bedroom. Jean-Luc headed out and encountered one of their neighbors almost immediately -- and Will had Lieutenant MacAvoy with him. "Good afternoon," he said, turning toward the lift. 

"Good afternoon, sir. How was your visit?" Will wasn't in uniform and had a bag over his shoulder. It appeared they were on their way somewhere, the holodeck or perhaps beaming down to Earth.

"It went quite well, actually. I see you're on your way for leave?"

"We're going to Hawaii for a couple days. Data has my duty shifts until I return."

"I'll be notifying the senior staff when we have the exact day and time for the wedding. It will be in my home town, in France, likely two weeks from now." Jean-Luc noticed the shock in MacAvoy's face out of the tail of his eye, while glancing at Will, who was not so surprised and actually smiled at the news. "You can, of course, bring Miss MacAvoy."

"Wouldn't miss it," Will exclaimed. "Thanks for the advance notice."

"Congratulations, sir," Randi said with a smile. 

"Thank you. Please don't spread it around, I'd prefer to avoid being a news item again -- people were already trying to approach me while we were in Paris. Having reporters show up would be most unwelcome." They entered the lift together, and after he asked for the bridge Will asked for the transporter room. "Hawaii is a beautiful place to spend time on a beach. I hope you enjoy your time off," Jean-Luc said. 

"That's what Randi said. I was lobbying for South America." Will smiled at his companion -- it was a smile of a different nature than the one he reserved for co-workers, and it occurred to Jean-Luc that likely it resembled his, at least some of the time. 

"Do you have plans for the honeymoon?" Randi asked politely. "Hawaii would be perfect for that, you know."

"Nothing definite. I suspect it will involve a beach, though." 

The lift opened, and the couple said good-bye and went their way. On the way to the bridge Jean-Luc sighed and tried to shake off the feeling of dread. He thought about Robert, and Marie and Rene, and how well that visit had gone; that his brother had become a family man and learned to have a sense of humor led to regret that he hadn't contacted Robert before now. Rene had been an enthusiastic shadow for the afternoon, following them around and asking questions about the ship. Over dinner they had all discussed coming aboard the ship for a tour and made plans for the next weekend, as Rene would be back in school until then. 

The only concern he had had throughout was Deanna's uncharacteristic weariness. He wondered if the dream she'd had might have affected her more than she led him to believe, and hoped that all she needed was some rest. 

He almost moved forward when the door opened but realized the lift had stopped on deck two. And Dr. Michetti came in, smiling at him, but turning to face forward. "Hello, sir."

"Good afternoon. Didn't I miss an appointment?"

"I expect when there's a crisis or a mission that you likely won't show," she said. "You can let me know when you would like to resume. I'd supposed you would be on leave yourself, now that the crisis is over?"

"I have a little time right now, if you'll come to the ready room."

They left the lift on the bridge. Data and Geordi were the only ones present. "Good afternoon, sir," Data exclaimed, rising from the center seat. "Did you enjoy your leave?"

"Yes, thank you. I'll be in the ready room -- after I meet with Dr. Michetti I would like to speak to you."

"Yes, sir."

Jean-Luc headed in without further thought, and found everything as he'd left it, then was surprised that he had expected anything to be different -- being at home had been that much of a dislocation. Perhaps Deanna wasn't the only one feeling somewhat off balance.

"Would you care for some tea," he asked automatically, reaching his desk and turning to find Michetti slowly approaching. Her hesitance suggested nervousness. 

"Why not?" She sat down and smiled at him, thanked him when he returned from the replicator with the two cups then went to sit across the desk from her. "You look tired."

"I went to see my brother in France. The time zone is nine hours ahead of Starfleet standard time. It's a bit disorienting to eat dinner and come back just after lunch."

The counselor tilted her head, curious. "You told me a while ago that you hadn't spoken to your brother in years. How was that for you? I'm curious what made you seek him out at this particular time."

The usual irritation that he felt when someone commented that way, including Deanna when she was still trying to be his counselor, arose. It probably showed in his face. Michetti's eyes flicked off over his shoulder and returned to his face, and he had the impression she was tense. He thought about what Deanna had said when she'd confronted him, that his perceptions were possibly getting in the way of the therapy. It occurred to him that he was nervous about therapy, and Michetti might be nervous about being the captain's therapist.

"I didn't really do anything. Deanna sent them a message, and then my brother contacted me." He couldn't quite look at her. "It went very well. Robert's changed -- I suppose that should be obvious, as we all do, as we age."

A pause, and then she moved on. "Did you give any thought to what we discussed?"

"Not... really. Mostly because of the crisis, and then I was preoccupied with... personal matters. We'll be getting married while we're here."

"That's sudden," Michetti exclaimed. He glanced up at last to find her looking surprised, and concerned.

"Yes and no. How much do you know about Betazoids?"

"I know what I've been told, by Deanna and by others. I know that like many telepathic species they can form bonds. I suspect that may be the case for you."

Jean-Luc smiled, almost wincing. Still not liking the conversation but determined. "Yes. Dr. -- can I call you Alia?"

That too startled her. "If I can call you Jean-Luc." She pronounced it with the hard J. It wasn't so unusual for people to do that, but it was still a bit annoying.

"Of course. I was going to say that I don't view anything the same way any longer. What do you know about the court-martial process?"

"I know that you've been through it once already. I heard that another one was about to happen."

Jean-Luc glanced at the monitor. The retinal scan activated the screen, and a tap opened his inbox. There was a message from the JAG office and it wasn't Phillipa this time. "It will be the day after tomorrow, in fact. Probably routine. We had a good reason to abandon our assignment and travel to Earth, against orders."

Michetti leaned forward slightly. "But?"

"I find myself dreading it. Routine, and we know it, and the thought of sitting through it makes me tired."

She nodded slowly. "Are there other things that make you tired?"

"Routine things. The reports, some of the administrative tasks. I sometimes wonder if it will not change. I came aboard with some misgivings, thinking that once I was back to work, back to being in command, that that would change. Instead it continued. Until I followed a hunch and everything settled. I was starting to feel myself again. And it made me realize that I had been feeling tired for longer than I thought. That I'd started to feel restless. I'm beginning to wonder if that might have affected my decision making somehow, contributed to the loss of the _Stargazer_."

"It sounds like burnout, doesn't it?"

He hadn't wanted to call it out that way, but he couldn't deny it. He found himself almost hanging his head.

"Being with Deanna makes you happy. That relationship eases your symptoms and maybe she's influencing your mood in a more direct way through this bond."

"I think so. But the more I allow myself to be happy, the less I want -- "

Michetti waited for him to continue, but he wasn't able to find the words. "Are you afraid of losing the will to remain in Starfleet? Why not let yourself simply be happy?"

"I am happy, I have been happy some of the time with missions or with -- " He lost the words again. Shook his head.

"What keeps you from finding your balance, staying in Starfleet, and being happy with Deanna?"

"Nothing, I suppose. Other than feeling this unease."

 The voice of Data interrupted the less-than-inspiring discussion. "Captain, there is a Captain Louvois requesting permission to come aboard."

"Thank you, Data, permission granted, and I'll meet her in the transporter room. I'm sorry, Alia. I'll contact you to reschedule."

The doctor followed him from the room and when he left the lift on deck eleven she remained in it. He hesitated outside the transporter room and tried to quell the dread settling into his stomach. Deanna awakened, likely because she sensed him, as the conduit between them opened and concern flooded through it to him. He mustered the determination and went into the transporter room.

"Good afternoon, sir," the lieutenant on duty said. "The captain is ready for transport."

"Make it so."

Phillipa looked just the same, but in the most recent iteration of the uniform. She'd grown out her hair, and it was put up on the crown of her head. She came off the pad with an assertive stride, holding out her hand, and he took it firmly. "Captain," she said smoothly.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," he said as he turned for the door. She followed of course and matched him stride for stride, and then it was a game of deciding where to go. He was surprised that Deanna appeared to read his thoughts; she responded by projecting welcome, encouragement, and hope.

So he started for home. As they went in the lift, Phillipa said, "This is quite a ship -- the pinnacle of your career, being in command of the flagship."

"Deck eight." He watched the indicator as the lift car went into motion, recovering from the stunned state at her suggestion that he was about to start on the downward slope in his career. "Pinnacle," he echoed, questioning.

"Isn't that what they do? They put you on a trajectory of big gorgeous ships, and then after the biggest and best they promote you and put you in bars instead of pips."

"Or I suppose one could muster out and retire to a normal life at home."

When she was silent for a moment, he dared to look. She was actually eyeing him with some suspicion. "Are we sure we got all those mind-altering parasites? Did you just say that?"

"I did just say that. I've been considering it since the court-martial."

"I'd heard, through the grapevine, that you took a nice long vacation. I was glad to hear it, you were pretty tightly wound." The lift opened, and he led the way down the corridor. Phillipa looked around and smiled. "You're taking me to your quarters," she exclaimed, delighted. He wanted to respond but it threw him into a quandary -- she clearly had an expectation that he didn't. Addressing it in the corridor felt too public. So he walked on, speechless.

The door opened to reveal Deanna seated on the couch, holding a padd. She had put on one of her dresses, looked ready for duty, and smiled at them in welcome.

He turned to Phillipa and gestured at Deanna. "Captain Louvois. This is Deanna Troi, the ship's counselor."

Phillipa was stunned, but recovered quickly. "Counselor," she said evenly, nodding.

"Captain. Please have a seat and make yourself comfortable."

Phillipa shot another look at Jean-Luc. Her eyes were full of questions, and it was odd to see her off guard this way.

"Are you here about the court-martial that's scheduled for day after tomorrow?" he asked, knowing full well she wasn't. He sidled around the end of the coffee table and sat down next to Deanna. He glanced at the padd in Deanna's lap. "Hawaii?"

"Have you been there? It's beautiful -- look at this beach," Deanna said, handing over the padd.

"We're thinking of going somewhere after all the shouting is over," Jean-Luc commented. "Oh -- I'm sorry, would you like something to drink?"

"No, thank you -- actually I just stopped in to see if you were all right. You didn't respond to my message."

Deanna didn't say anything, but she was a little sad. She gazed at him with some chastisement. "Jean-Luc."

"I haven't responded to any messages, it's been an extremely busy few days, as you know -- I'm sorry, Phillipa, I didn't intend to cause concern."

"Excuse me," Deanna said softly, leaving the padd on the couch and rising to walk around the coffee table and Phillipa, and strode into the bedroom. 

Jean-Luc gazed up at her. At length he said, "I'm feeling as though I should stand up to avoid the awkwardness."

"Sorry. I'm just -- " Finally, she moved over to the chair, sitting on the edge of it. "You've managed to shock me."

"I didn't know how to tell you. I'm sorry."

Phillipa gaped for a moment, clearly as much at a loss as he. "I've thought about everything a lot, since you departed and never came back, never spoke to me again, and I even saw a counselor for a while trying to sort it all out in my mind."

That was in itself a little startling. "Thought about everything? What do you mean?"

"I didn't expect you to just leave that way. You didn't come talk to me. We were close, before, and then nothing."

"What were you expecting me to say to you, after what you did?"

"I thought you understood that I was only doing my job," she exclaimed. "After all that you said, about duty and about how you felt so torn in the moment you were faced with that choice, after you went on about how you made it and still felt guilt...."

They stared at each other as she trailed off, and it took him a few minutes to recover and organize his thoughts rather than blurt out the first thing that came to mind. "Deanna tried to be my counselor," he began. That wasn't the direction she thought he would take; she actually flinched a little. "She tried to be my personal counselor, and that effort failed. I couldn't talk to her until she forced me to choose what kind of relationship I wanted with her. And since I made the choice, she hasn't pretended once that she has any right to do anything more than encourage me to see the other counselor aboard and let her assess and determine whether I need that kind of help. Nor does the personal cross the line on duty. I can't say that about you."

Phillipa went quiet for a while, head bowed, not giving anything away. Deanna had meanwhile completely closed herself off from him -- he could only detect a quiet presence of her in the back of his mind. 

"I wasn't looking for a more permanent relationship, Jean-Luc," she said at last. "We were good friends, I thought. I liked that, and I didn't see anything that would tell me you were looking for anything more. You're career Starfleet, you had focus and drive, you never let anything get in the way of that. I wouldn't presume to even ask you to let me be an impediment."

He smiled faintly at that. It was, he reflected, easier to see things in hindsight. But no less hurtful. "Deanna doesn't ask for a relationship, or that I give anything up for her. She asks me what I want. We work together to make plans, to have what we both want."

It took her aback yet again, and with wide eyes she contemplated him as if he had turned into someone else. She opened her mouth to speak, but didn't.

"We're getting married, within the next two weeks."

Now Phillipa averted her eyes. "We were in a very different place emotionally back then, weren't we? You wanted something different than I expected you would. I didn't give you a chance to tell me."

"I think that I was not in a good place, and I was left in a worse place after you brought up what I told you in court. I trusted that you -- I trusted you, and I didn't know that you would cross that line. I don't even know if you saw the line. I didn't know that I had to be conscious of the risk that you would cross it. At the time I didn't know what I wanted, I don't think that I could articulate it then. But in retrospect, yes. I was in a different place. Likely a bad choice for you all the way around, because I wasn't happy and I was pretending that I would be able to go back to what I was before, in my own mind."

"I'm sorry," Phillipa said quietly. "I do hope that you will be happy -- I won't bother you again."

He almost said something about wanting to be friends, but something made him hesitate. It wasn't true, he decided. He really didn't want that. "Thank you," he said at length. 

She was in motion at once -- out the door in seconds, and as it closed behind her the bedroom door opened and Deanna came out, looking at him with sympathy and even a few tears. She hesitated but slowly approached when he held out a hand. He pulled her into his arms. 

Holding her helped him settle his nerves. She waited him out, until he loosened his arms and let her take a step back. "Want to talk about it?"

"Nothing to say. I could use some tea, I think."

 


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shamelessly I steal information about actual restaurants and locales... location and appearance may differ but names and menu are borrowed directly. Will they exist in the future? Probably not. Don't know.
> 
> Another thing about the episodes was that rarely did they ever show people handling difficult things the way people really do -- over time, working things out. Many shows pretend that people can shake things off, and never be affected by them again; not convenient to the quick paced plotting to show more than the occasional hint at complexity in characters. It's probably part of the reason people think they can do that in real life (lots of people try and fail). But I'm not bound by such constraints.
> 
> French weddings are indeed different than American ones.

The court-martial had concluded in record time. Jean-Luc left the room with his senior staff behind him in a line.

"You were right, sir," Will exclaimed as he followed close on Jean-Luc's heels. "A formality."

"We should celebrate," Geordi said from behind Will.

"Go out on the town," Tasha said from behind him.

Jean-Luc reached the end of the corridor, where the choices were to turn left toward a line of turbolifts, or right toward offices. He turned in place to face the officers behind him as they grouped up in the junction. All of them wore dress uniforms. Deanna stood between Worf and Beverly, watching him. The only senior officer absent was Avery -- who had requested a transfer, having accepted a position on McKinley.

He'd never done anything with all of them that hadn't been duty related. He couldn't remember doing anything off duty with the senior staff of his last vessel, either, not off the ship on leave -- occasional poker games didn't count. With specific friends, he'd gone out once in a while.

He'd spent the past day and a half ruminating, and then feeling guilty because he wasn't as present as he could have been -- Deanna had spent some of her time with Tasha and Beverly, shopping in San Francisco and apparently they had found a nice beach somewhere. But when she came back she let him brood, and he'd not spoken to her much. Not about what was on his mind anyway. About the wedding, sometimes. They had spent a pleasant hour over a glass of Merlot last night, one of the wines Robert had given them, while they talked about where to go after the wedding.

He looked at Deanna with a questioning raised brow, and she glanced around at the others and hoped. Well. That was it, then. She wanted to go.

"I hope you all like Chinese food," he said, glancing at Data. He had never seen the android eat. Since Data did not object or say anything, he went on. "I'm buying. Geordi, plot us a course for the Hong Kong Lounge."

Geordi grinned and bobbed his head. "Yes, sir!" he exclaimed enthusiastically. "I know exactly where it is. One of my favorites while I was a cadet."

"Lead on, then."

Geordi headed for the turbolifts, and everyone followed. Deanna waited and joined Jean-Luc at the back of the group, behind Tasha and Beverly, who'd fallen in step with each other, arm in arm. It turned out that they had to take a lift on their own, as the rest of the group filled the first two.

Jean-Luc thought about asking if she was all right, if they were okay, but she wasn't unhappy. In fact, she leaned closer and rested her cheek on his shoulder.

"You're tired," he said as he noticed it. She'd been keeping her feelings to herself throughout the hearing. Now that it was over, things were returning to normal.

"I went to an early workout with Tasha, to burn off nervous energy. And sitting there listening to that was still tense for me. I've never been to a court-martial."

"If you want to go back to the ship we can bow out."

Deanna smiled at him. "They were so happy that you want to do this. And I want to go. After we have lunch with them, we can go our own way. Go change and find the redwoods."

He glanced at the panel -- floor twenty and dropping. "I'm sorry I've been so pensive."

"You've been thinking a lot since Phillipa left."

"I realized that I've been struggling with motivation longer than I thought I was. And she hurt me more than I thought -- I wanted to believe that I was the same, but when she told them in court what I had told her in bed, in confidence, I was shocked, turned to stone, and then I had to set that pain aside quickly because I had to think and not be unduly influenced by my feelings in order to defend myself. When I was talking to her two days ago, I told her -- she seemed to understand. But she didn't apologize to me. Not when it happened, and not now."

The doors opened, and they left the lift as the rest of the senior staff left theirs, and then they were navigating the immense atrium of the main building of Starfleet Command. Officers were crisscrossing the wide tiled floor and quite a few of them looked their way, as they headed for a bank of transparent aluminum doors to exit the facility. Jean-Luc saw a few people out of uniform that he suspected to be representatives of the media; they were standing around near the fountain in the middle of the room, watching them with great interest. He turned face forward and went through the door Will was holding open for them. Geordi led them down the street in the bright sun of a spring day in San Francisco, toward Geary Street, and everyone else regrouped behind him.

"I'm sorry," Deanna murmured as they went along, still tailing behind the others. She wasn't touching him; she didn't when they were in San Francisco and in uniform, any more than she did when they were on the bridge.

"It's of no consequence. I'm not sure why it bothers me so much."

"Hmm."

"I should have known -- I think that's the problem. I thought that I knew what I wanted. It wasn't enough any more. Why I wasn't able to recognize that bothers me."

Deanna sidled closer, getting his attention, and her sleeve brushed his. "I realize that it isn't unusual, but I wonder why you feel so much anger at yourself."

"I'm wishing that I might have had more insight sooner."

"That's also a common refrain." They turned a corner and sped up a little to keep up with their friends. "Anything I can do to help?"

"Perhaps a distraction...."

She hummed a little, thinking up mischief, judging from her smile. "Well, we are sitting practically in spacedock, and there's minimal crew on the bridge. If you think you might like to try another ready room scenario."

He had to throttle back the laughter, when it drew the attention of Tasha and Beverly; their heads turned at the sound.

The restaurant wasn't far from Command. Most of the neighborhood eateries were accustomed to Starfleet patrons, and so they were left alone, though pedestrians were not unaware -- he hadn't checked the newsfeeds on purpose but started to wonder if he should have. They reached the restaurant and as they went in the group gathered in the foyer and Geordi was being told there was no available table. The host glanced at Jean-Luc as the door closed behind them, and his eyes went wide.

"Do you have a private room?" he asked calmly.

In short order, they were escorted through the busy restaurant to the back, patrons looking up from their plates all around at a line of officers in dress uniform winding their way between tables, and seated at a large table in the middle of a room with several large tables.

"I suspect our picture will be on the wall of the restaurant at some point," Beverly said, grinning as most of them were. She sat next to Tasha across the table from Deanna and Jean-Luc. Will took the chair at the head of the table, and Data sat next to Deanna with Geordi at his left. Worf sat next to Tasha, which he tended to do anyway. As usual, he didn't seem entirely at ease.

Waiters came in to get drink orders, and one placed complimentary appetizers on the table while another put down place settings. After they left the room Will chuckled and leaned back in the chair. "Now that's service."

Jean-Luc smirked at his first officer. "It's one of the few perks of five minutes of fame. I recommend the dim sum."

"What is that?" Tasha asked.

"A Chinese tea party, in essence. The group shares a wide variety of different dishes served in small portions, family style."

Two waiters returned with drinks -- the wait time was phenomenally short, which hadn't been the case the last time Jean-Luc had been here. After the waiters had gone, he stood up, deciding that this was the best time to make the announcement.

"I want to take this opportunity to invite you all to our wedding," he said, bracing himself. That anxiety was for naught -- everyone was being restrained, no one was surprised. "You have six days to get out your civilian formal wear."

"I do not possess any civilian formal wear," Data said. "I would appreciate any guidance that you can offer."

"There are plenty of places to shop, and plenty of replicator patterns in the computer, Data," Geordi said. "Where's the wedding going to be, sir?"

"As far from the public eye as possible -- we're going to my home town, in France. My brother and his family will be there."

At that, some of them who were grinning went sober. Beverly raised her eyebrows -- well she should, Jack had probably told her some of what he'd told Jack about his family. Deanna was quietly eating one of the appetizers.

"We'll beam down, from the ship. I considered inviting others, but we decided to keep it to family. Be aware that the time zone difference is drastic -- France is nine hours ahead of Starfleet standard." Jean-Luc sat down and did a double-take at the happy grin on Will's face. "Something amusing?"

"Naw," Will said, leaning to reach for an appetizer from the platter in the middle of the table.

The conversation started to revolve around what to get them for a wedding present. It led to explaining wedding customs to Worf, and Data's monologue about the various customs of Terrans and Betazoids had to be gently quashed. Deanna was good at nudging the discussion, so Jean-Luc ate pork ribs in plum sauce, steamed clams, _bao_ , and stuffed mushrooms while watching the reactions to some of the dishes -- Worf was mostly focused on the food not on the conversation and watching him relish the Phoenix claws and deep fried squid made him smile. Eventually Tasha noticed the Phoenix claws.

"Are those chicken feet?" she asked with a curl in her lip.

"They are," Jean-Luc said, picking up his bowl of chrysanthemum tea. "Do you know what you're eating?"

Tasha looked down at her plate in horror. Beverly leaned and bumped shoulders with her. "Don't fall for it, those are just pork dumplings and spring rolls."

"His brother is worse. Marie served Steak au Poivre, and he tried to tell me I was eating horse testicles," Deanna said, loading her fork with noodles and vegetables.

Will aspirated a mouthful of tea and started to cough. He raised what was left of his tea and said, "Here's to being an only child."

"Amen to that," Beverly said, raising her tea to tap her bowl against Will's.

"Isn't there a reception after a wedding?" Tasha asked, returning to the topic of the wedding. Jean-Luc thought she might have some anxiety about that, and wondered why.

"Marie said we could bring everyone to the Chateau for the reception." Deanna smiled in amusement, probably remembering Robert's response to Marie suggesting that. He had of course relented after a few minutes of crabby noise about how much wine he'd be providing.

"So we get to see where you grew up? Deanna said it was beautiful, I can't wait," Beverly exclaimed. "Can we bring Wesley?"

"Of course." Jean-Luc glanced up as the door opened for the tenth time, to admit a waiter bearing a tray of food.

"Will there be dancing at the reception?" Tasha asked. She was a little too amused.

Jean-Luc turned to look at Deanna, suspecting there had been Talk With Friends. Deanna shrugged. "Marie did say we could use the great hall as a ballroom."

"I thought you don't dance," Will said. It wasn't clear who he was saying it to, however.

"He doesn't," Beverly said, making her assumption obvious.

"Why wouldn't you dance at your own wedding?" Geordi asked.

Jean-Luc smiled, thinking about the grief he'd be getting about this from Robert. "I didn't say anything about that."

"So... you do dance, or you don't dance?" Tasha asked. Next to her Worf rolled his eyes up to gaze at the ceiling and scowled. No doubt Klingons did not dance.

"I don't dance." Jean-Luc glanced at Deanna again. "With anyone but her."

Beverly laughed -- clapped her hands in delight at it, as he hadn't seen her do in years. She'd done it before, clapped her hands together and held them at her mouth, laughing, genuinely pleased with something. She hadn't done it since Jack's death, he suspected. "Yes, he's ready for this," she said as if speaking to herself. Will and Tasha were giving her a startled look.

Deanna had that sly smile that he was not accustomed to seeing when they were with others. She hummed a little and nibbled at a spring roll, and licked her lips. He hoped no one noticed.

"I am curious, Captain," Data said. That would be the fifth time so far during this meal. "What kind of dancing? I would like to be prepared. I have never danced before."

"With weddings you can usually get away with just a basic waltz," Will said. "Unless the bride and groom are movers and shakers."

"The last wedding I went to, everyone was drinking, and everyone was moving and shaking," Geordi said. "No one learns to dance for those kinds of things, Data, you just get out on the floor and move to the music."

"Are you saying then that there is no technique?"

Jean-Luc could feel it coming. It was all downhill, surely the conversation would go there, and after some back and forth it happened -- Tasha suggested that they go out and try it, she knew a club....

"Have you picked the rest of the wedding party?" Beverly asked, probably noticing his discomfort and changing the subject. She had a sympathetic smile.

"Oh... not in a traditional French wedding," he said, turning to Deanna again. "We don't have bridesmaids or groomsmen." In fact, young children would traditionally make up the wedding party, but there were none other than Rene in the family at the moment. 

"I didn't realize it was so different," Beverly said. "I had a bridesmaid, and you were Jack's best man."

Jean-Luc eyed Deanna when she failed to register an opinion. "Did you want something different? What do you think?"

"All that matters is that we're all there. I'm sure it will be wonderful, just the same." 

"Is everything all right?" Beverly asked, voicing the concern that Jean-Luc had started to feel. Deanna had been too subdued.

"My mother is here," she said reluctantly. "I can sense her -- not in the restaurant, I mean she's in San Francisco somewhere," she added quickly when Worf tensed and looked over his shoulder out of reflex. "She's not actively reaching out to me, or looking for me, but I think she knows I'm close as well."

"Some distance, then. We could go to this club over in Rio de Janeiro," Will threw in. "The Mariuzinn. That should put us out of harm's way, so far as your mother goes. And no one knows anyone from anyone over there. Especially if we don't wear uniforms or talk about anything Starfleet. "

Deanna grinned at Jean-Luc. "Swearing at people in French when they ask him who he is works well enough for him."

"I'm going with you?" he asked innocently, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"You haven't given us any time for a bridal shower, or a bachelor party," Beverly exclaimed. "So we may as well just go have some fun and call it good."

He started to shake his head, and Deanna started to lose her smile. "You want to go?" he asked.

"I could teach Data how to dance. And Worf," she said, looking across at the Klingon, whose scowl turned into a near-growl. "Or not. No one _has_ to dance, you know."

"You're sure this is a good idea?" Jean-Luc eyed Will, trying to deduce if this was another one of those subtle leg-pulls and they would find themselves in the news cycle in the morning. Or in a club full of teenagers.

"It'll be relatively quiet, it's early in the week. You'll see."

Jean-Luc felt a glimmer of foreboding. But Deanna was hopeful, and everyone else watching him with hesitant smiles, apparently also hoping.

"What time are we going? I'm certain I wouldn't want to be caught out in a dress uniform."

"This is going to be fun," Tasha exclaimed gleefully. She caught herself and stared at him, as if that informality might offend him.

That was enough.

He gazed at her, took in also Beverly's muted dismay, and glanced around at the others -- Will was looking at his empty plate, Data was looking at him with a vague smile, Geordi was finishing his last few bites of dessert. Deanna met his gaze and smiled fondly, but even she had a hint of muted concern in her eyes. As if Tasha's exuberance would make him change his mind.

All these years he'd spent moving from a carousing young man to a dignified starship captain, and now people he considered friends were feeling this way about suggesting to him that they celebrate his wedding. It actually hurt. He used to have fun -- it was once possible to not be concerned about relaxing and going out on the town. It had been such a gradual progression that he couldn't see the point where he'd somehow decided to be stodgy and solitary.

There was only one thing to do.

"I think it will be fun," he said, mostly to Deanna.

She responded with another of those brilliant smiles he enjoyed so much. "Yes."

 


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am going on the theory that there would be transporter stations - as high maintenance items that can be problematic, they would still need bureaucratic regulation, I think. 
> 
> I've always wanted to write our friends into a fun bar fight. I ended up still wanting to do that. #goalfail

Deanna thought about the right outfit for the evening in terms of appropriateness and functionality. She stood at the closet, contemplating the options she had available to her. Something that didn't show a lot of cleavage, something that would stay on while dancing.... There were a few options she had that still fit.

Jean-Luc was surprising her, as the wedding approached. Buying everyone lunch had been a shock. She wondered, not for the first time, if he were planning to quit Starfleet. He seemed to be focusing on the wedding more and more. She wondered what people would say if they knew she wasn't the one making most of the decisions. Most of the human women she knew who'd gotten married had struggled to get their future spouse to do more than decide what to wear, and most of the time defaulted to dress uniforms. Jean-Luc hadn't done that. He'd been talking to her here and there, but mostly making arrangements and then telling her about them. They were having roses, he'd said just that morning after a conversation with Marie. He had asked for Deanna's input on suits and selected something from the database. It seemed odd that he didn't want to wear a uniform, didn't want to get married in a Starfleet civil ceremony, until she thought about how he kept the personal so walled off from the professional.

He returned from the bridge and came in as she was replicating some things to go with the dress she had selected. "Getting ready?"

"I am. Are you all right?" He'd been frustrated by something for a little while.

"I've just had to tell Admiral Golden that I won't be at her party because I'm going on vacation -- I almost told her I was getting married but she would have immediately notified all of Starfleet, because that's her self-appointed task at Command. I also spoke to another admiral or two. Greg Quinn has invited us to his home for dinner, day after tomorrow. Your mother has started trying to contact me."

"I'm sorry, Jean-Luc." Deanna clutched the pair of high-heeled black boots and the handful of underwear and cosmetic jewelry to her chest awkwardly, and headed for the bedroom. "I'll have to break down and talk to her -- I may as well do it via subspace. Maybe tomorrow."

He watched her drop everything on a corner of the bed and studied the rest of it, the glistening black dress and a few jet black pieces of jewelry, and raised an eyebrow. "The bar is set. I should get your advice on what to wear."

"What time are we supposed to go?" She took off the robe she was wearing, picked up the strapless brassiere, and pulled it around her torso. He came forward and fastened the front for her, running his fingers up the curve her breast. "Is that your answer?"

"We only have about half an hour. Just saying hello." He kissed her lips lightly and backed away to let her continue dressing. "Not everyone is coming along. Geordi took the beta shift. Worf opted out, apologized to me and said he would get us a gift but that he was not comfortable in that setting. Tasha and Beverly are coming, and Will asked if he could bring Randi. Data wanted to come but was not certain, as he felt he should find someone to bring -- he observed that we were all taking someone and decided to see if he could find a date as well."

"Essentially we're going on a triple date, then." Deanna stepped into the pale pink panties and pulled them up. Jean-Luc made an amused noise. "What?"

"I was just thinking -- I had an entirely different expectation for all of this." He was hesitating. When she frowned, he continued. "I had this idea that having someone living with me would mean having a companion, having sex -- I somehow didn't predict that it would be watching each other change clothes and asking each other what we want to eat."

"It could also mean other things, you know." She pulled the dress over her head and eased it into place over the contours of her body, tugging down the skirt, then sat to pull on the boots.

"The usual things? Getting married. Having children." He sat down and started to take off the uniform, starting at the pips. She switched legs, tugging the boot onto her right foot.

"When you agreed to go tonight you weren't feeling very much enthusiasm. Are you sure you want to go?"

"We'll have fun. Once we're there, and we get through that stage of me ignoring the teasing and disbelief."

Deanna gave him a sympathetic look. "I don't think you should worry about that."

"I should probably worry about what to wear, yes." He watched her put in the earrings, and smiled fondly. "Everyone will be looking at you anyway. Not sure why I'm so concerned."

Deanna beamed at him. "You sweet man. I love you."

He peeled off his uniform shirt, left it wadded on the bed next to him, and tried not to react to her, at least not overtly. He went out of the bedroom and returned wearing a short-sleeved black shirt, went to a drawer and found the black slacks he'd brought back from Paris. "Do I need anything else?" he asked as he swapped pants.

"Maybe we should remember to stretch before we start dancing?"

He chuckled at the reminder of the stiffness he'd felt the morning after their last night on the town. "Maybe I should wear a wig. Be less recognizable." He had seen another news story and didn't like that he was still being put out there as a hero. There had been other people involved, after all. Walker was laying low somewhere, evidently, and Scott and Rixx were on their vessels, one getting an upgrade at McKinley and the other in orbit awaiting orders and letting crew have leave just as the _Enterprise_ was. None of them had gotten as much attention as Jean-Luc.

"And ruin it? Please, no. I like you as you are." She crossed the room to the mirror, to get her brush, and started to work on her long waves and curls. "I'd like to put my hair up but I think it'll probably fall out of the pins."

"I like those boots," he said, approaching in his sock feet. He cupped her buttocks in his hands. "I like the bare shoulders and the skirt. Wear your hair down."

"I like your hands." She gathered her hair, smoothing it down over her head, while his hands made their way down the backs of her thighs and he nibbled along her shoulder up her neck. "Hold my hair for a minute."

He complied, and she leaned and plucked a large clip from the pile on the dressing table. Once secured he let go of her hair and watched her pick up some makeup. "I think I should tell you...."

Whatever it was came out of a strong determination that faltered as he spoke. She turned around, lowering the brush in her hand. "Jean-Luc?"

He mirrored her smile and gathered his thoughts. "I wanted to say that since we set the date of the wedding I've been thinking about it all. About what it means, and how life will change for us."

"Change?" Deanna frowned a little at that.

"It does. Once that's on the service record people will look at you differently. Quinn already shows signs of a change of attitude -- I'm not sure he entirely supports this. By which I mean he looks at it as detrimental to my career, not that he doesn't like you."

"Are you agreeing with him?" It almost felt like he might; he was taking his friend's concern seriously.

"No, not entirely, but it could be if we don't handle it well enough."

Deanna considered this for a moment. This wasn't the first time he'd thought about it, but likely his friend's concern had re-activated the anxiety. "Should we postpone the wedding and discuss it further?"

It was obvious he'd been so broody about career considerations that he hadn't thought of that. His eyes came up to meet hers, startled. "No," he responded forcefully. "I don't want that at all."

"Is that your only concern?"

"Robert reminded me that we each inherited half of the winery and the vineyards. I did nothing to change that, nor did he, despite parting on bad terms. I suppose he thought I would run off and die recklessly, which of course has nearly come true a number of times over the years, since as either of us would inherit the other half as it stands. Rene would only inherit if Robert gets my half. I told him I would sign it over to him, if he wanted, but he waved me off and insisted... he said that we could stay with them. That we could build our own house, tear out a few acres of grapes, there are some old vines in the back he wanted to pull out anyway."

"That's wonderful," she murmured, quite pleased that Robert was being so accepting. "But is it what you want to do?"

"Not... now. I think. I do want to get married there, however. In LaBarre. With my family and our friends present." He hesitated, looking down at the toes of her boots. "Do you concur?"

"You're asking if I changed my mind about the wedding?"

"No, I think -- But are you -- do you want to come back to the ship after the wedding? Or stay in LaBarre? Do you still want -- "

Deanna dropped the blush brush and completed the turn, took a step, put her hands on his chest. "Jean-Luc...." She tried to understand what he was thinking, as his feelings were muddled. He wanted something, but she couldn't tease out what that was and it occurred to her that he might not really know, perhaps that was the point of this process he was struggling through yet again. So she thought about the question. "I want to be with you. I'd like to stay on the ship. But I also would enjoy getting to know your family better. I know that regardless of where we decide to be, I would enjoy having children and being with you wherever we are."

The chime interrupted whatever he would have said -- he froze with an open mouth for a few seconds, then kissed her cheek. "Finish getting ready, that's probably them." He left her there to hurry up with makeup, and she put on the last piece of her outfit, a black shrug, then snatched a couple of black bracelets off the table and threw on a long coat. It would be evening in Rio, and probably on the cold side. The coat would also come in handy walking through the ship to the transporter room without showing off her thighs in the short skirt.

With her hands in the pockets, she strode out and found them standing in a circle in the middle of the room. Beverly and Tasha were wearing dresses, and Tasha was not completely comfortable but her heightened excitement was encouraging; she wore green and Beverly wore turquoise, and Tasha's hair was slicked down in a cute style that went with the form-fitting dress. Beverly had a short but not conforming skirt and had her hair down around her face.

"You look great," Beverly was telling Jean-Luc. He stood with crossed arms, which showed off the definition of his biceps nicely.

Will had another of his infamous shirts on -- he continued to choose things that showed off chest hair, she noticed, and he seemed to favor shimmering fabrics in bright shades of blue or green, and this one reminded her of the shirt he'd worn on Angel One, just months ago. He turned to glance at Deanna as she came to stand next to Jean-Luc and did a double take. Randi, standing next to him and holding his right hand, noticed this sudden shift of attention and her eyes flitted back and forth between them.

"Are we ready to go?" Deanna asked smoothly, giving her peaceful, calm smile, equally useful in all situations where she was not completely certain about the emotional atmosphere that would result from the next interaction.

"Do you think we need a coat?" Beverly asked.

"The computer said that it's late fall in Rio. Ambient temperatures are around 10 Celsius at the moment, and at night that will fall somewhat. And I tend to feel colder than everyone else anyway. I'm impressed -- you all look great," she exclaimed, smiling straight across at Tasha as she said it. Her friend blushed a little as she grinned.

"Does this establishment sell food?" Jean-Luc asked. It was a good question. Deanna could tell a few of them were hungry, or starting to be.

"It does," Will said. "I was there before we reported for duty on the _Enterprise_. I had a good time -- there's semi-private booths for groups."

"Well, let's get going," Jean-Luc said.

Going to the transporter room and beaming down was uneventful enough. They left the public transporter facility and followed Will and Randy on foot down the street beneath the street lights. Dusk was almost done, it was getting darker by the second, and there was some light foot traffic. Will turned and went up a few steps to the sliding doors of a dark building with reflective windows, and a sign over the door said in gleaming blue letters, 'Mariuzinn.'

The club had the same automated coat check as the one in Paris, and after consigning her long coat to it Deanna turned, tugging her skirt down a little, and took Jean-Luc's arm to follow their friends the rest of the way inside. That there wasn't a line said it was still quite early in the evening. Will selected the large booth in the back corner on the level above the dance floor, instead of one of the tables that were arranged around the floor. The music hadn't started yet. A few groups and couples were seated and either waiting for food or already eating it. When they were arranged around the round table a waitress slinked in, wearing a barely-there outfit that featured large swaths of netting and golden strips of material, to hand out menu padds from which they would be able to order whatever they wanted.

While the others chattered about what they wanted to share, Deanna put down her menu and watched Jean-Luc pick a few things. He put his padd in front of her and she put a couple of other items on the order, doubled the drink order -- he'd opted for a _caipirinha_ , apparently a Brazilian traditional drink -- and put in the order.

The first round of drinks arrived on a tray in the hands of their waitress, Rhea, who flashed them smiles as she placed glasses in front of everyone. Deanna's was clear with a twist of lime and some mint leaves, and tasted sweet. The waitress flirted with Will for a minute and departed for the bar.

"Have you finalized the arrangements for the wedding?" Beverly asked. She'd taken the chair on Deanna's left. Tasha turned from watching someone on an antigrav lift fixing ceiling lights to look at them as well.

"Almost." Deanna glanced at Jean-Luc. She hadn't talked to him about wedding specifics and things might have changed.

"After talking to Dufresne and Robert a little more, we decided that having the ceremony at the vineyard would be more private. Evidently it's gotten out that we visited and a reporter showed up at the church asking questions."

Deanna sighed at that. "So an inside wedding, so pictures won't end up in the news."

"I'm afraid so."

The waitress came back and dropped a platter of appetizers on the center of the table. Will reached for one of the stacks of meat and cheese and colorful vegetables. "Are we going to have a briefing about any other French customs we'll be participating in?"

"We're keeping it simple. Don't worry about it."

"I for one am wearing that dress even if I don't get to participate," Beverly said, staring at Jean-Luc. She'd done a lot of looking, Tasha had said, until Jean-Luc's clarification had dashed her hope of being a bridesmaid.

"When does the dancing start?" Tasha said, craning her neck. She was still anxious, and Deanna suspected she would be feeling that way most of the night.

"Soon. Have something to eat, they're good," Will said.

Tasha obeyed, and it was obvious she was still stuck in officer. Will's tone had been more commanding than Deanna liked. Enough so that Tasha's natural inclination had been to accept it as such, at least unconsciously. But there wasn't anything to be done about that, at the moment. She knew it wasn't intentional.

"So, Randi, are you from Earth, or one of the colonies?" Tasha asked.

"From Alpha Centauri," Randi replied. She wore a white sheath and it only made her tan stand out more. Not to mention her long legs and her long blond hair that she wore loose around her face and down over her shoulders. It revived for a moment the longstanding frustration of being short; Deanna had had Betazoid friends who were leggy and tall, and while she didn't get teased as she had before it could still be difficult to keep up with long-legged people.

Now the table talk wandered around places of origin, for a bit, as the waitress brought out their meals and served them, and replenished drinks. Deanna ate calmly and sipped at her original drink sparingly, determined not to let the alcohol carry her away. Jean-Luc was the same, quiet and mostly focused on his food. It was perhaps understandable that this was noticed, eventually.

"Jean-Luc," Beverly said, startling Deanna out of silent communion with him as she chewed a fibrous chunk of squash.

"Yes, Beverly?" he responded calmly.

Beverly glanced back and forth at them. "Is everything all right?"

The look Jean-Luc leveled at her was perfect -- questioning and almost placid. "Of course. Why do you ask?"

Beverly rolled her eyes. "I don't know, maybe because you're sitting there without saying a word?"

Deanna almost gave it away, but managed to keep her expression tamped down to somewhat amused, instead of letting it reflect his puckish mood. He was good at keeping a straight face. "I thought the point of this was to relax and have fun," he said.

Will stifled a laugh, drawing a look from Randi, who might be questioning his sanity. Beverly sighed audibly. "You obstinate man."

"I think she wants you to socialize," Deanna said.

"Everyone knows where I am from, though. I'm waiting for some relevant topic to chime in."

Finally, Tasha understood what he was doing and grinned. Beverly glared at him. "I know you're better at this than you're acting."

He swiveled his head to Deanna, appealing to her for assistance. "Am I acting in some inappropriate fashion?"

"Not yet. Have another drink."

He grabbed his glass, and she held hers up to touch it to his. "Here's to us."

"To friends," Deanna added, swinging her arm to include the others, and they raised their own glasses in an impromptu toast.

During a discussion of places they had been on Earth -- which Deanna had the least input on -- the lights went dimmer, the strobes over the dance floor came up slowly, and the music started. At a very low volume for a bit, but rising. And as it did the soundwall force field turned on, muting the noise for those seated at tables on the upper level.

"Sounds like it's time to dance," Will commented.

Deanna sensed the immediate upswing of anxiety in Tasha. She turned to Jean-Luc. "Are you going to be upset if I dance with other people?" 

"Only if you plan to leave with them."

This interplay startled Will and Randi. Deanna leaned to kiss Jean-Luc on the cheek and got up, leaving the remnants of her plate of salad to step behind Beverly and touch Tasha's shoulder. "Come dance with me," she ordered, heading for the force field. After a moment of frozen anxiety, Tasha mustered up the courage and followed.

There were a handful of people coming out on the dance floor already. Deanna chose a corner and spun to watch Tasha approach, and began to dance first. The first song had a slower tempo and so she warmed up with some languid swings of the hips and let Tasha imitate her. By the end of the long groove Tasha had loosened up quite a bit, stopped being so carefully imitative and started to move in more natural, less forced ways. Which resulted in attention. A young man came over and asked her to dance. Tasha glanced at Deanna with alarm in her eyes; Deanna smiled at the man, sensed no malice or other reason for concern -- he was interested, sure, but not in a predatory way.

The next song started as Deanna reached the table. "She was a little anxious, she's feeling better now."

Beverly seemed pleased, as she watched through the sound-dampening field. Tasha was grinning at the young blonde who swayed and moved around her. "She seems to be having fun. Thanks, Dee."

"If you're ready for second string," Jean-Luc said, rising from his chair.

"I was warming up for you -- so I can keep up," Deanna said, turning to walk with him back down to the dance floor. She ignored Will's stare.

It took Jean-Luc a minute or two to stop thinking about their audience, and start to tune in to her. The second song had more upbeat guitar and a faster bass line. Before long, the same vibe as before rose between them, and he was losing awareness of anything but her and the music thrumming in their bones. The song merged into the next one, and she wasn't as drunk as last time so she was able to pull them out of the beat and back to the table. They sat down at the empty table, reaching for the replacement drinks that had arrived while they were dancing.

Their friends had all gone down to dance. There were others, newcomers to the club probably, out dancing as well. Beverly's red hair stood out from the crowd, as she swayed in orbit around Tasha. Will and Randi were out in the middle of the floor and Will was doing that wild arm-swinging flashy dance move she remembered from when they were much younger, and she was naive enough to be impressed by his attempts at dancing. She noticed that he had started to try to move his hips and body a little more, no doubt an attempt to emulate Jean-Luc.

Jean-Luc put down his glass and leaned over to kiss her. She was surprised, but reciprocated and let her tongue play around his lazily. After a few minutes they parted and she reached again for her own glass. Will was coming back to the table slowly, and something about his wariness said he had likely seen them kissing and hesitated.

"Having fun, Will?" she asked cheerily.

He stood behind his chair and reached over for his drink. "Absolutely. You look good out there together."

"Thanks," Deanna said, turning to smile at Jean-Luc. He had left his arm draped across the back of her chair, and sipped his _caipirinha_.

"I had no idea you were such a good dancer, Jean-Luc," Will continued. That was amusement, putting a lilt in his voice and quirk in his lips.

"Hmf." Jean-Luc glanced at Deanna with dubious eyes.

"Don't worry, I don't think he wants to dance with you," Deanna said, taking the opportunity to tease both of them.

Randi made her reappearance then. She smiled at them as she approached from the direction of the restrooms and went to Will. "Ready to go if you are."

Once they were on their way back to the dance floor, Deanna sighed and settled a little closer to him. "Did we finish the conversation we were having earlier?"

He put the glass back on the edge of the table and turned his head toward her, his chin against her scalp. "I believe so. I was having some doubts -- I'm sorry I keep returning to the question of whether you are getting what you want, but every time something else happens it makes me think it all through again. Robert didn't help. He teased me about you. He said I didn't deserve you." It had clearly resonated with him more than Robert likely intended.

"Robert doesn't know either one of us so well as that, does he?"

A snort. "I suppose not, just yet. Is there anything you want that hasn't been brought up?"

"There is something." She tipped her head back another inch and whispered in his ear. "I want to dance."

"As you wish." It was, after all, what he wanted as well.

The evening continued in kind -- most of the time she danced with him, returning to the table every so often to drink something and take breaks. She danced again with Tasha, who had been imbibing and also gaining confidence, and with Beverly who finally came down to spend time with Tasha. The two of them were fluid and obviously in a close orbit, comfortable with each other and able to ignore spectators and dance close and intimate. The rest of the crowd were all engaged in more of the same, with the usual variety -- thrashers who flailed and leaped and jerked around attempting to get attention, grinders who would swing and sway and try to find a partner to do the same while rubbing against them, loners who bobbed and swayed in place without partners -- most of the people were human. Deanna saw a very drunk Bolian gyrating in a corner and there were a few Andorians here and there who seemed to be together.

She came back to the table after a particularly intense interval with Jean-Luc to find Randi and Beverly there. Jean-Luc had headed off to the restroom, and she couldn't tell where Will and Tasha were, probably somewhere out in the sea of strobe lights and thrashing bodies. They had turned up the force field so it was still fairly quiet on this side of the club. The waitress had cleared away dishes and left her a full glass of water and another of the cocktails. Deanna dropped into her seat next to Beverly and turned to the others as she picked up the cocktail.

"I'm starting to feel old and tired," Beverly said. "How the hell does this feel hard? I used to love dancing the night away."

"I'm almost done myself, I think." Deanna sipped and let the coolness slide down her throat. "It's getting later all the time."

Randi looked at Deanna, and said nothing. It concerned Deanna that the other woman felt some frustration.

"Is something wrong, Randi?"

"I sometimes wonder if I'm just wasting my time with Will."

That brought Beverly around to look at Randi as well. She turned her body in her chair, touched Randi's arm. But she didn't know what to say, clearly.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Deanna said. "I thought it was going very well. You love each other very much." She didn't even throw in 'seem' as she usually did with non-Betazoids, as Randi seemed perfectly aware of Deanna's abilities. She'd referenced them several times throughout the evening.

"I know, but you know that isn't all there is to it." Randi picked up her martini and sipped, turning her head -- scanning the dance floor. It was darker and the strobes made it difficult to see details. 

Beverly looked to Deanna as if asking for help. It wasn't an ideal place for this kind of discussion. Deanna focused on her friends, thought Will and Tasha were still dancing, and Jean-Luc was on his way back from the restroom. 

"Is there anything we can do to help?" 

Randi looked at her as if she had to be crazy. She started to shake her head. "I don't -- " And then her eyes went up, and a hand came down on Deanna's shoulder. 

She spun in her chair, and the man took a step back. He was young, dark-haired, and smiling -- and behind it was that predatory interest that was so common in clubs, but she'd been ignoring it. It was hovering in the atmosphere with the more than a hundred people milling around, dancing, drinking and eating.

"Want to dance, love?"

"No, please leave," she said firmly. "I'm talking to my friends."

"I can be your friend. You can talk to me."

In the next few moments, things happened faster than she could sort out. She knew Jean-Luc was drinking more than usual, and that his drinks were strong -- she was drinking the same liquor and felt loopy though she'd consumed less than half what he'd had. She knew that there were those around who were not officers and not inclined to follow a particular code of conduct. She hadn't known, however, that these things would create the perfect setting for a fight.

Jean-Luc was back, must have detected her sudden surge of alarm and rushed the rest of the way out to the table, and before she could say a word he had the assertive young man by the back of the collar. The man reacted as a drunk aggressive man would, and before she knew it fists were flying. And then there were two men, and three, flinging themselves at Jean-Luc, who punched the first one, dodged the second as the man who'd asked her to dance came back from the wall he'd been thrown against, and so Deanna threw herself into the melee as well because this was not fair. It startled one of the men but the other turned on her -- there were a few moments of wrestling and then Tasha was shouting, a fist came out of nowhere and struck her nose, and an incredible blossoming of pain radiated through her head. Then she was falling and the sharp pain in the back of her head indicated something with an edge had interfered with her progress to the floor. She blacked out for a moment. Awake again, she brought her hands to her face and cried out.

Then Will was shouting. She heard something breaking loudly, and a man was cursing furiously. Hands pulled her upright, lifted her into a chair, and then Beverly was hovering over her with intense focus and concern. "I'm pretty sure her nose is broken," she announced.

Deanna blinked a few times and let Beverly pry her hands from her face, which led to some throbbing and a gush of blood. Tasha now hovered over Beverly's right shoulder, and Will joined her. Randi came in from the left to pass Beverly some napkins. 

"Deanna!" 

That was Jean-Luc, coming back to her, but Beverly scowled at him. "Channeling your irresponsible past," she snapped. "She'll be fine. We need to get to sickbay."

"I can walk," Deanna said, or tried to. It hurt. "Outside. Can't call here. Too much attention." There were people all around, a loud hum of conversation, anxiety, the usual result of a brawl -- the music had stopped and somewhere off to the left some authoritarian-sounding male voice was ordering someone else to contact the police. 

"I'll get her coat," Randi said, and after she left Will came to kneel at her side. 

"That was something," he said. He glanced up -- she tried to follow his gaze, wincing a little, and saw that Jean-Luc was also bleeding a little from the nose, and his right eye was swelling -- his shirt was torn down the front, showing a narrow strip of chest. She smiled, wanted to laugh, but knew that would hurt too much.

"You should see the other guy," Jean-Luc commented as he applied a napkin to his own nose. 

Randi returned, pushing through people accumulating, and held Deanna's coat for her. They huddled up and made it through the crowd to the front door mostly because Will started shouting, preceded them and made a big deal about an injured person needing to get to the hospital. Deanna was sandwiched between Beverly, Tasha, Jean-Luc and Randi as they jostled along together. 

There were flashing lights coming up the street -- police. Will must have found his communicator as he called out for beamup, and then they were whisked away abruptly from the cold dark outdoors to the bright white transporter room. Everyone was immediately less tense than they'd been just a moment ago, stepping off the transporter pad. 

Data and a young lady, both in civilian styled clothing, were standing next to O'Brien at the console. He scanned the group with quick jerks of his head. "Does this mean I am too late to join you?"

"Yes, Data," Will said wearily. "If you want to go out, I suggest San Francisco."

Deanna, feeling quite impatient with this thanks to the throbbing of her face and the growing stabbing pain in the back of her skull, made a pained noise. "Out of the way," Beverly exclaimed, guiding her forward by the shoulders. "Come on, Captain, you're next in line at Dr. Crusher's All Night Clinic, serving the drunk and disorderly since 41148."

It felt like a long walk and lift ride to sickbay, and no one said a word. Deanna let Beverly navigate on her behalf, tried to ignore her own pain, and endured the mortification from Jean-Luc, as he felt his own pain and thought about something that led to dread. He had to be still intoxicated, but trying, Deanna thought. Likely he was now connecting the dots to realize that beaming out before the police got there only postponed the inevitable conversation with an admiral, when the officers in Rio contacted Starfleet, which would be the only way anyone would beam out -- the general public were restricted to beaming from one public transporter center to another. 

Beverly set the nurse on duty in motion, and before long she was exclaiming -- then Deanna was sinking into anesthesia away from the pain in her face and head. 

 


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Star Trek bothered to be consistent with doctor-patient confidentiality....

Jean-Luc waited miserably in Beverly's office, watching the time tick by on the readout on her desk. The door opened, he came up straight eagerly, but Will came in.

"How are you?" Will asked.

"Sober. Wanting to go back in time and be that way much, much earlier than this."

It won him a sympathetic look. Will dropped into one of the two chairs on the visitor's side of the doctor's desk. "Beverly was pretty mad."

"I'm angry at myself as well, trust me. It didn't have to go that way."

Will wrinkled his brow at him. "What was happening when you got there?"

"Dee was standing there looking at him -- she was afraid. And so I didn't even think about it, grabbed him and pulled him away from her. He stumbled off, came about and punched -- I got him a few good ones while he was trying to hit me. His friends showed up and started in, and then she jumped into the fray. I heard Tasha shout, and then one of them hit her straight in the face. She flew backward and hit the back of her head on the edge of the table on the way down." The tables were firmly bolted down to the floor, and made of a tough composite. The sound of her skull against the table edge would haunt him in his dreams, he was certain.

"I showed up just after that I think, she was already on the floor, and Tasha was wading in. I pulled the one guy off you and tossed him, and then the third guy came at me, and I cracked him in the jaw. And then Tasha dragged him off and gave him a toss, he hit that railing and broke it. I was shouting for security at that point, I think."

Will was leaving out that Jean-Luc had drunkenly reeled down to the floor on his knees to touch Deanna's shoulder and lean in to look for signs that she was all right. He'd been sure that she wasn't and in shock. Beverly had been there nearly as quickly and pushed him back to check her over, probe her spine with her fingers, then had him help her pull Deanna up as she'd started to cough and come awake. He'd stood behind the chair, hands on Deanna's shoulders to steady her as she swayed, until Beverly shooed him away and sent Randi for some napkins. The blood coming from Deanna's nose wasn't a lot but clearly concerned her.

That Deanna had been talking when he'd come close again had been reassuring, and her suggestion reminded them all of the public setting -- but more than that, she'd hit her head and anyone who'd taken the basic first aid class they were all mandated to have would recognize that they had to get her to a medical facility promptly. Beverly didn't even have a medkit with her. So they hurried her from the busy club, and once aboard the ship the ongoing wince in Deanna's face became more visible than in the dimly-lit bar, and much more concerning that she was losing strength. Beverly was half-carrying her into sickbay. Once on the biobed, she seemed to start to fade. And then Beverly went into crisis mode as she studied the readouts, and initiated surgery, paging Dr. Selar to provide it as she had been drinking.

There was plenty of guilt to go around, now that he thought about it.

The door opened again, and Will turned his head -- Beverly came in with a tired but satisfied expression. "She's in recovery, asleep," she said. "You both should go to bed as well. She'll be fine -- go get some rest. Dr. Selar is staying with her tonight."

Jean-Luc stood up, followed Will from the office, but didn't follow him out of sickbay. Beverly caught his arm before he made it out of main sickbay.

"You're not going to do her any good right now," she said. "Or you. Go home."

"Beverly," he said, in a high-pitched plaintive version of his usual.

She let go, and followed him. They came around the partition into the more private side of sickbay, and Selar brought her eyes up from the panel. "Captain."

"Doctor," he said automatically.

"I will go replicate a late meal for myself, while you are here," Selar said, striding out the way they'd come in.

He approached the bed and stared at her, once again unconscious and in one of the ugly sickbay gowns. He was indeed exhausted, and though the nurse had healed his nose and cleaned him up there was still blood on the torn shirt he wore.

"Jean-Luc," Beverly pleaded softly. "She'll be here when you've rested. Come on. Don't make me order you."

"It's my fault," he said, unable to tear his eyes from Deanna's face. Now that he'd come close he could see that even under sedation she had a faint appearance of being in pain. He rested his palm across her forehead.

"Oh," Beverly sighed, crossing her arms. She came up to the other side of the biobed. "It is not your fault. That man was going to cause trouble, he was drunk. Deanna was very firm and told him to go away and leave us alone. You know she only does that when she senses a vague deflection won't work."

"What did you do? What was wrong that she needed surgery?"

Another sigh. "Jean-Luc... if I tell you, will you go?"

He stared at her and waited.

Rolling her eyes, she capitulated. "When she hit the table it ruptured an artery -- fluid was accumulating in her skull. There was also a hairline fracture. We took care of it, don't worry."

"Why haven't you let her out if it's healed?"

Beverly sighed audibly at that. "There's a chance that it caused some brain damage and I won't be able to assess that until she wakes up."

"You're saying she isn't under anesthesia? That you're waiting for -- " He searched Deanna's face for clues, or maybe he was just hoping she would wake up.

"Telepathic species do this sometimes," Beverly said softly. "They have a way of healing their own brains. I ran all the scans that I can with the equipment available, and there's some indication of bruising in the parts of the brain responsible for language skills."

Jean-Luc stepped over to a chair left to one side, brought it back to the bed, and sat down.

"Jean-Luc," Beverly scolded.

"You said she could wake up."

Unexpectedly, she didn't call for security, but came around the head of the bed, went to the same corner, brought back a chair and sat next to him. "I have to be here to handle any injuries you incur when you fall asleep and drop to the floor and hit your hard head," she retorted.

He almost laughed at it, but the feeling twisted in his chest. Shaking his head, he put his hand on Deanna's arm. She didn't react in any way. He was tempted to shake it, but sat back in the chair and waited.

"I'm not really that angry about not being a bridesmaid," Beverly said after a long silence.

He turned his head and raised an eyebrow at her. She held his gaze for a moment, then slumped lower in her chair and waited with him, not saying a word.

He didn't remember falling asleep, but came awake as he started the slow slide to the floor that Beverly had predicted. And as he sat up he realized his folly, falling asleep in one of the stiff standard issue chairs that way leading to stiff aching in the back, and saw that neither Beverly nor Dr. Selar were present. Deanna was still there under the thin blanket, however. He came to his feet to lean in and study her face for signs of change.

Unexpectedly she opened her eyes.

He froze in place. As he recovered from surprise, he touched her face, smiled, and kissed her forehead. "How are you?"

A tentative smile, but her eyes were troubled. She was confused -- now that she was awake he could once again detect her emotions, as the connection had been restored. She couldn't understand him. She pushed herself up, swung her legs down, and when the alarm went off Beverly ran in.

"Hold it, let me check you over," she exclaimed.

Deanna was now shocked, and starting to be frightened. She clutched Jean-Luc's shirt, still the torn one from the club.

"She can't understand you," he said, putting an arm around her.

That stopped the doctor in her tracks. "Deanna?"

Deanna was obviously trying, and frustration and fear twisted her face. She clung to him desperately and he put his arms around her.

"Let's take her out to one of the diagnostic beds," Beverly said.

He escorted her out, noting that she seemed fine, other than her frightened eyes. She sat on a biobed and lay back, her eyes following Beverly as she started to run scans. Nurse Ogawa came over, smiled warmly at her, at Jean-Luc, and followed Beverly's instructions. It had always been hard to see Deanna in tears, and doubly so now - she was crying silently while Beverly worked.

"There's definite indications something's going on in the speech center," Beverly said as she gazed at a screen with a representation of a brain in red, blue and black. "We're just a transporter away from Starfleet Medical -- I'm going to contact some neurologists, particularly if we have any with experience with Betazoids. We'll take care of her."

Jean-Luc moved closer, now that the exam was done, and put a hand on Deanna's shoulder. She was feeling more afraid, not less, and since she couldn't understand what was being said he knew she had to be reacting solely to what she sensed. He tried to project reassurance but it was difficult when he was almost as afraid as she.

[What did she tell you?]

That was a surprise. He glanced up -- Beverly was heading for her office, Ogawa following and asking a question -- and he took Deanna's hand again as if that would help. He repeated the words in his memory, unsure of what he should be trying to do to get it across to her.

Deanna sat up and looked at the monitor mounted on the side of the bed she was on, touching the screen to turn the image of her brain around. She turned back to him with wide eyes. [Tell me what happened in the club. I don't remember everything. There are gaps.]

He ran through what he remembered, and what Will said. She was feeling less panicked than before. Knowing that she could communicate with someone was a relief -- he would feel the same way. By the time Beverly returned, they had concluded there might be an admiral in their near future, and he had decided he didn't care.

"We should get her dressed -- I managed to get the attention of Dr. Norban, the chief neurologist at Medical. He wants to see her as soon as possible."

"I'll change as well -- we'll meet you in the transporter room." He gestured at the door, and Deanna understood the intent well enough. She left the biobed and headed for the back of sickbay where the replicator was and returned wrapped up in a robe.

It wasn't hard to get from sickbay to their quarters quickly and without running into anyone, usually, but being in orbit around Earth meant that crew would not be at duty stations consistently enough to keep corridors clear. And so they ran into a few officers here and there, and then into Will, in uniform and probably heading for the bridge. "Hey, good to see you're up and around," he exclaimed, smiling at Deanna.

Deanna looked to Jean-Luc -- it confused Will. "She can't understand you," he said. "We're on our way to Starfleet Medical to see a neurologist after changing clothes."

Will was speechless for a moment. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Anything I should know about?"

"Admiral Quinn attempted to contact you, apparently you don't have a comm badge on you so it was routed to me."

"Yes, I'll contact him before we leave. Thank you, Number One." Jean-Luc gestured at Deanna to move them along.  He took her arm and led her off while Will watched them go, concern in his eyes.

They hurried into their quarters, into the bedroom. It was somewhat reassuring that she wasn't physically impaired in any way; she was changing at full speed as he was. He placed the badge on his chest and tapped it. "Captain Picard to Vice Admiral Quinn."

"Jean-Luc," came the immediate response. "No doubt the delay in reaching you was due to this incident -- some of your crew were in Rio in a fistfight in a club?"

Jean-Luc watched Deanna sit down in front of the mirror to brush her hair. "I was there when it happened. My senior staff were taking Deanna and I, to celebrate, and a drunken man approached Deanna -- when I intervened he threw a punch at me, and two of his friends also attacked me. Deanna was punched in the face and fell against the edge of a table, and the doctor insisted that we beam straight up to sickbay rather than waiting around for the police. She was in surgery for a couple of hours and we're taking her right now to see a neurologist at Starfleet Medical. If you would like more details I can come to your office after the appointment."

A moment of silence. Deanna didn't bother with makeup; she stood up as she fastened the clip and waited for him. So he pointed at the door and she followed him, as Quinn started to talk again. "I'm sorry to hear your officer was injured. I will be here."

Beverly waited in transporter room one, and must have informed O'Brien of their destination -- once they were in place he started the transport. "Hope you feel better, Counselor," he said as they beamed away.

They materialized in an alcove that appeared to be for that purpose, and stepped out into the corridor. "This way. We're heading for neurology, floor twenty three," Beverly said. Jean-Luc took Deanna's hand and passed along the information as best he could.

There was a small reception area behind the door they finally went through, and Beverly told the receptionist they were there to see Dr. Norban. She smiled up from behind the desk, her eyes fell on Deanna and Jean-Luc, and she asked, "We're expecting you. Who is the gentleman?"

"This is her fiancé," Beverly said.

"Take a seat, sir." The receptionist pointed out at the banks of chairs in the waiting area.

Beverly waved Deanna closer. "We'll be back soon."

"Wait," Jean-Luc exclaimed, not quite believing this. "What do you mean?"

"You need to wait here," the receptionist said. Deanna stopped walking when Jean-Luc didn't follow, looking back and forth between them. "Only family members, sir," the woman added firmly, though not without sympathy.

"But -- I was with her in sickbay," he exclaimed.

Beverly gave him a sympathetic look. The receptionist started to frown. "Sir, please take a seat. Unless you would like to consent to having him come with you, Commander Troi?"

Deanna hadn't even realized the receptionist was speaking to her. She still looked at him, glanced at the receptionist, and then it must have occurred to her what it was about. Holding out her hand, she waited until he came to her and took it, then turned to stare at the receptionist as if to ask if she was satisfied.

The blonde held out a padd. Deanna pressed her thumb to it. Tugging his arm, she drew him after her, as she followed Beverly down a short hall.

Dr. Norban had been notified, as he came around the corner to meet them. He was a tall fellow, and had unruly short curly brown hair. "Good morning," he exclaimed with a smile, holding out his hands.

"Dr. Beverly Crusher," Beverly said, holding out a hand.

"Ted Norban, at your service. This is the patient? And -- Captain Picard?" The news had spread far and wide, after all. Jean-Luc doubted the doctor would have known him from anyone before this last crisis.

Beverly looked at him apologetically. "Deanna wanted him to come with her."

"Come with me, please," Norban said, gesturing then turning to lead the way. They ended up in an exam room with a biobed and some other equipment not immediately recognizable. "You can have a seat in the chair over there, sir. If you'll get on the bed, Lieutenant-Commander Troi, we'll begin."

Deanna turned to look at him without comprehension.

"That would be the problem," Beverly said. "As I explained when I called, she's unable to understand us." She came to Deanna's side and gestured at the bed. It was enough -- she got up on the biobed.

Thus began the exam -- Dr. Norban kept making the same mistake, talking to Deanna as if she understood. He found the damaged area as Beverly had, and then the two doctors began to talk in specifics, and Jean-Luc couldn't follow. It was like being trapped in a room full of warp physics experts. Deanna waited patiently on the bed, wishing for something.

[How is everything going?] she asked at last.

Jean-Luc indicated that he wasn't certain, that it was confusing and difficult to follow what they were talking about. It amused Deanna, as she'd experienced that often with engineers and doctors.

"What is that?" Norban said suddenly. "There's a spike in the activity of the paracortex."

"She might be trying to talk to someone telepathically. I wish we could ask her." Beverly came around from the other side of the biobed where they had been using a console to monitor readouts and initiate scans. "I don't suppose she's talking to you?"

"Would that help you if she were?" he asked.

Norban rushed around the foot end of the bed. "Her record indicates she is half Betazoid. You are saying... Are you saying she communicates telepathically with you?"

"Is that unusual?"

"Not unheard of -- but not usual. Tell her to imagine a white room."

For half an hour, Jean-Luc relayed such instructions, imagine talking, imagine smelling the flowers, imagine that sound, to Deanna while the doctors studied the readouts. And then Norban moved a long instrument that looked like a nested set of deflector arrays around and spent some time adjusting on the console, and asked for him to tell Deanna to be still and again picture the white room. He turned on the device for a few minutes, and then shut it off, moved it out of the way, and scanned again.

"Talk to me, Deanna," he said directly to her.

She stared at him incredulously for a long moment. "Thank you," she said, smiling up at the doctor. And she lunged up from the biobed and hugged Norban unexpectedly, tears on her face. "Thank you!"

Norban staggered a little at the assault. "You're quite welcome."

Jean-Luc was on his feet before he thought about standing up. "That's it? That's all?"

"Once we were able to assess the exact nature of the damage, courtesy of your assistance in having her activate neurons in an organized fashion so we could map the connections and see which were damaged, I was able to target them with the neural regenerator with just enough energy to heal the damage without injuring the surrounding neurons. You should have her in sickbay every day to check on her for a while, make sure it's stable," he said to Beverly. "But you're good to go."

"Let's go get some breakfast," Jean-Luc said happily.

"I'm going to stay and talk to Dr. Norban," Beverly said. "I'd like to consult with him -- I think some sickbay upgrades may be in order. I could have used this device three months ago." One of the crew had incurred a head injury that had taken the ensign off active duty for an extended period.

Deanna came with him, and as they left the exam room she came in for a hug in the empty corridor. "Such a relief," she said.

"Yes. We're going to Command -- I said I would meet with Quinn after this, to discuss the incident."

"I hope you aren't blaming yourself," she said as they walked the sterile white halls of the clinic toward the exit. "That man was drunk and disorderly. He wanted something, and he was determined to get it."

"I should have called security or done something else."

"But you were also drunk and disorderly, as we were all being, and I'm glad no one else got hurt," she said. "By incident you mean the club, not the parasites?"

"Yes, the transporter usage tipped off the police that it had to be Starfleet officers -- everyone else has to go to a terminal. And so the computers logged the transport, the _Enterprise_ uploaded the log to the network, and the admirals had but to ask which transporter in the vicinity of Earth transported someone from those coordinates."

"Are you going to be written up for this?" she asked, distressed by the thought.

They exited into the waiting room, and he ignored the stare from the receptionist as they passed through and left the office. Now they were in a main corridor and heading for the front entrance of Starfleet Medical. "Frankly, I don't give a damn -- I already told him you were injured and needed medical attention immediately. We're going to be fine, regardless. Would you like to know how many times I've been written up over the years?"

She clung to his arm as far as the exit and then they were marching across the long green space between Starfleet Medical and Starfleet Command, on the winding paths among trees, flowers, fountains and memorials to starship captains of yore. They passed the statue of Jonathon Archer and started up the broad steps to the side entrance of the main building at Command. They topped the last step and passed between the stone pillars that disguised the scanners that kept weapons out of the building, ostensibly. At least, it attempted to screen out ones that shouldn't be there....

Several corridors and a long ride in a lift later, they reached Quinn's office, and gained admittance -- he stood as they came in, smiled, but it was clear that he wasn't entirely welcoming and warm. "Have a seat, Jean-Luc. Commander, I hope you're feeling better? I understand you were injured?"

"I had a brain injury that required the intervention of Dr. Norban," she said as she sat down with Jean-Luc in front of the admiral's broad, crescent-shaped desk. There were a few keepsakes and framed pictures grouped on the right corner, back out of the way of the console and monitor. His window had a spectacular view of the bay from the thirty-second floor.

"Damage to the speech centers," Jean-Luc said. "She had surgery last night to deal with an arterial bleed and a fracture on the back of her skull, but the damaged neurons required a specialist."

Quinn took that in with sobriety. "The police report includes witness statements that match what you described to me earlier. I am interested in your accounting, Commander Troi."

Deanna smiled at the admiral and seemed quite relaxed, sitting upright with her hands in her lap. "I was talking to my friends, Dr. Crusher and Lieutenant MacAvoy, at our table. Commander Riker and Lieutenant-Commander Yar were on the dance floor. The captain had gone to the restroom. The young man approached us, and I could tell he was drunk. I sensed that he was determined -- I told him I didn't want to dance with him, but he did not leave and started to attempt to talk me into something, when the captain returned and observed that I was upset. He pulled the man away. The man threw a punch at him and then there were others joining in, so at that point I stepped into the fight because I didn't feel three against one was fair. And then I was unconscious and have very little memory after that, until I was in sickbay."

"This is an unusual situation," Quinn said, leaning back in his chair. "I don't normally have to chastise my veteran captains for bar brawls."

"We weren't in a bar. We were eating dinner in a club together with no intent of doing anything other than spend some time dancing and talking about things other than our jobs," Deanna said. "Commander Riker specifically chose this establishment because it was not a location known for finding one night stands, bar brawls or any other trouble -- we were simply enjoying being on Earth, somewhere other than the holodeck, Admiral."

"It could have been handled better, that's true," Jean-Luc said. "I have to admit to that -- we were all off duty, and we're not immediately returning to our assignment nor are we likely to be at red alert, given our location. So we imbibed perhaps more than we should have, but that would be the nature of it -- you lose your judgment, of how much you've had, or how much you should have. Had I not been drinking and three sheets to the wind I would not have laid a hand on the man, I would have insisted that he leave and called the club's security. But I'm not certain that he wouldn't have lashed out anyway."

Quinn looked from Jean-Luc to Deanna and back. "I'll need a statement from each of you, and from the other officers involved. I will be forwarding them along with my response to the Rio police force, and request a statement from the civilians involved. I anticipate this may end with a reprimand, at most. Now -- are you still coming for dinner tomorrow evening?"

"We'll be there," Jean-Luc said. "I'm sorry, Greg. I regret that this occurred -- I certainly did not want to see anyone injured."

Quinn smiled genuinely, for the first time since they'd arrived. "I realize, Jean-Luc. These things happen. Thank you for coming in -- you're dismissed."

Deanna followed him out of the office, out of the building, down the street -- he realized then that he'd not eaten since last night, not really slept well, or very much. And he really did feel like hell.

"You mentioned breakfast," Deanna said, walking alongside him with her hands behind her back.

"Here we go," he said, indicating a cafe on the corner. "I think we're past the breakfast rush, this should be quiet enough."

The small cafe had four other patrons, and though they stared at the two uniformed officers none of them said or did anything. They took a small table in the corner and used the padd in the middle of the table to order. Deanna glanced out the window at the street and seemed to be letting herself relax and show the weariness she felt.

"We're both quite a mess, aren't we," he murmured. The waiter arrived and placed two steaming mugs of coffee and a small tray of the appropriate condiments between them.

"You're nearly as tired as me. But I know I'll feel better if I eat something." She added sugar and cream to her coffee, in exactly the same way as always -- two spoons of sugar, a dollop of cream, stir. "We should rest today. You promised you would give your family a tour tomorrow, though I'm curious with the time zone issue as to how that will work out -- you also committed to dinner with the admiral."

"We'll work it out the way we always do. One challenge at a time."

A tug on his sleeve interrupted -- he turned to find a boy standing far too close to him, looking up at him. Deanna stared at the child as well. The little boy appeared to be around five or six, Jean-Luc thought.

"You're Captain Picard," he said enthusiastically.

Jean-Luc gaped. Almost snapped at the child, but it would be a misstep to do that -- with his face still in all the newsfeeds and the debacle last night, all they needed was another potential public relations snafu down the street from Starfleet Command. He forced a smile. "Yes. Hello."

"What's your name?" Deanna asked.

"Tommy. Are you going back to your ship? Can I come?"

"Well," he started, taking a deep breath, waiting for inspiration. "First, you have to go to Starfleet Academy. And when you're done with that you can contact me."

Tommy grinned and jumped in place a few times. Suddenly a woman swept in and picked him up. "I'm sorry, Captain, I just ran to the restroom to wash my hands and he got away from me while I was doing that -- I hope he didn't bother you, sir," she exclaimed. It was a lieutenant in blue -- sciences, or medical.

"Oh, he was simply asking for a transfer to the _Enterprise_ ," Jean-Luc said.

"I'm Isabel Stanton -- I'm currently aboard the _Horatio_ , in biology. I'm requesting a transfer to any vessel with an opening where I can have Tommy with me," she explained. "He's been here with my parents while I've been on assignment. His father recently died in the line of duty so he's in my custody again."

He studied her face. She had a confidence to her that he liked. "Walker is a friend of mine. Is he giving you a reference?"

"He said he was sorry to see me leave, but he understood -- he forwarded a reference when I left the ship."

"Then forward your request to me, and I'll have a look at what we have available and see if you fit in," Jean-Luc said. "We have a small school and it's likely you will fit right in."

She gaped at him, and started grinning. "Thank you, sir! I appreciate your consideration."

"Thank Tommy, he's the one who requested the transfer." Jean-Luc smiled at the boy.

When the pair had returned to their table across the restaurant, he turned back to his coffee and tried not to let Deanna's amusement bother him. "If Walker has her aboard she's a good officer," he said with a shrug.

Deanna sipped her coffee and hummed quietly, giving him a wily smile that said she knew better. "You've learned to make friends with children."

"So?" he said, uncomfortable.

"It's nearly Captain Picard day, so that will be helpful."

He put down the mug and stared askance at her.

"The school teachers have instituted a day just for you. The children are all creating artworks that you will be asked to come select the top three participants, and the winners will get a tour of the bridge. Pending your approval, of course. They asked me recently if I thought you would do it. I suggested that they ask you, but they likely waited until after the crisis. I think you haven't gotten through all your messages yet or you would know this."

Jean-Luc harrumphed and propped his head on his hand, elbow on the table. "Are we also having a Counselor Troi day, or a Dr. Crusher day?"

"That might be fun. Especially if we continue all the way down to having a Lieutenant Worf day."

He chuckled at that thought. "That might actually be worth it."

"Commander Riker day might also be amusing."

Breakfast came, and he thought as he watched her start to eat that all things considered, things were actually going better than usual.


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whatever the Betazoid equivalent is for "shit hit the fan" Deanna would be using it right about now.
> 
> Why is Data so long in service that he's a lieutenant-commander and still as naive as they write him?

They left the cafe in a good mood, and Deanna followed him toward the nearest public transporter hub. It was, as she recalled, two blocks down and three blocks right from their current location.

"I always did enjoy spring in San Francisco," he said as they strolled down the walk. Foot traffic was beginning to pick up. People were paying attention to them, but he ignored all of them. She could sense the interest.

"It's beautiful here. I used to sit out on the roof of the dorm at the Academy and enjoy the view."

He gave her that look out of the corner of his eye that said fond skepticism. He'd been learning to read her almost as well as she could him, she had noticed. "You sat on the roof of the dorm? You said you like beaches."

"There are no good beaches in this area."

"Hmmm. This is an informative conversation," he exclaimed. "I'll be examining the options for the honeymoon with that in mind."

"Does that mean it's true?" a voice called out.

Both of them turned on a heel, and found a young woman in a red pantsuit standing there with a small device hovering over her head. A camera, Deanna realized -- the media on Earth used them, called them 'eye in the sky' and they recorded audio as well as video.

Jean-Luc started to turn away again without responding. The reporter added, "Is it true that you're marrying the ambassador?"

" _What_?"

Deanna caught his arm before he could turn back. "No comment," she said sternly at the reporter. "If you have questions regarding Starfleet personnel -- "

" -- the office of public affairs, sure, but come on, it's a simple question," the woman said as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world.

"I -- "

"No comment," Deanna repeated firmly. "We're going to be late, sir."

That prodded him into motion at least, but he fumed as they drew away from the woman steadily. Deanna kept glancing at the sky behind them, all around them, and didn't see the camera but didn't assume. They turned the corner before he broke. "What the hell was she talking about? Ambassador?"

"Be quiet," Deanna murmured. "You don't know we aren't still being followed."

"You appear to have some expertise with this kind of thing," he said in the same low tones she was using.

"We don't have the same level of intrusiveness in our media, but I have had a few bad experiences. Think about my mother for a moment and you can guess how I might be ambushed once in a while."

They were heading into the transporter hub when it struck him. "Your mother is an ambassador," he said, not quite believing it but questioning.

"Just get us back aboard," she said softly. "Get us back to our quarters. I hope the soundproofing is adequate, I have a few things I would like to say loudly myself."

They were almost there when Will caught up with them, coming out of the lift at a jog behind them. "Got a minute?"

"Come in," Jean-Luc said, crossing the threshold into their quarters. Once they were all inside and standing in the middle of the room, Jean-Luc crossed his arms and stood as if bracing himself for the next bad news.

"Everything all right? Beverly said you're better," Will said, smiling at Deanna.

"Yes, and it's a great relief, but we were just approached by a reporter on the street when we were on our way back," Deanna said.

"Aah, well," Will waved his arms and stepped back a little. "That's related to what -- one of our junior officers brought it to my attention. There are rumors, apparently. In some of the less reputable news sources."

"Let me guess," Deanna said with quite a bit of acid. "My mother is supposed to marry him? You remember one of the last things she said, don't you, when we were trying to tell her we wouldn't do the things she wanted us to do? That she was going easy on us, being kind and not insisting that all the traditions were honored otherwise you would be marrying her instead because of the old ways related to property and -- "

Jean-Luc interrupted with a shocking, loud stream of curses. He had both his hands to his head. Will took another step back, shocked by the response that had probably been fueled in part by the rage Deanna was feeling.

"It's not the end of anything," Deanna said. "Mother doesn't get to play this game again."

"We can't respond," Jean-Luc said. "It isn't worth responding to, if we say nothing and keep to ourselves it will die away again."

Deanna smiled that mercenary smile, almost laughing at his naivete. "Oh, no, if we say nothing she escalates. I've been here before. I'm going to make sure she doesn't get the chance to make this worse. You're going to stay here and I'm going to take care of this before it gets ridiculous. Keep him from trying to follow me," she told Will.

"How am I supposed to do that?" Will exclaimed as she beelined for the door.

"Be creative. I have some work to do."

 

\-------------

 

"We could go to the holodeck, play velocity -- they're empty since everyone's beaming down for leave," Will said.

Jean-Luc sipped his third cup of coffee and glared at the wall. He could tell Deanna was settling down, into a still-angry, devious mood that he had never gotten from her before and didn't like. "I appreciate the offer, but I'm too distracted for that."

Will stared over the top of his own cup, from where he sat at the opposite end of the couch. "Are you all right?"

The way he said it sounded quite serious. Jean-Luc studied his first officer, who returned the consideration soberly. "I don't know," he replied honestly.

That led to more staring. Will looked sympathetic. "You have the wedding jitters? Or is this a general sort of existential thing?"

"Both. And the way some of my friends are reacting -- Admiral Quinn and I were at the Academy together. He knows me well. He acts as though marrying Deanna will mean the death of my career. I'm uncertain how to take that, and I haven't had the opportunity to discuss it with him in any detail."

"I don't think I would have believed you would marry anyone, either. Maybe he's shocked and that's part of it -- he thinks you are changing in a negative way."

"Do you think I've change substantially?"

Will contemplated that one, as he balanced his foot on his knee and focused his gaze on nothing in particular. "I think you have. Not in any way Starfleet might care about, though."

"What are you talking about?"

"Well... you told me you wanted me to handle all the kids and civilians. You're meeting with Wes, some of the time. You seem to be managing to do something I've been unable to do, actually mix career and personal. Despite whatever is going on right now -- I suspect it's what happens on the eve of a wedding. A lot of questioning and some doubt, whether you want to go through with it, the usual. Deanna doesn't seem to have any doubt at all."

"I don't think it's that I'm questioning whether or not I want to marry. It's more a matter of how the future might play out. I've never been one to simply let things happen, see what will come up next."

"Letting someone else suggest that you should do something else instead of follow your career is another thing," Will said distantly, somewhere lost in thought and speaking it aloud. "It can feel like that's what it comes down to, when all is said and done."

Jean-Luc thought about that and tried not to smile. "I can't say that's a factor. She's quite upset if I suggest changing anything, in fact. I question though whether I should take an extended leave of absence and come back to Starfleet later, if ever."

"Wouldn't that be a major disruption in your career?"

"I've no aspirations of being anything but a starship captain. Why would I care about making big impressions and knowing the right people? If I gave a damn about promotion I'd go to the abysmal admiral's ball and pander to the admirals."

"Huh." Will smirked, slouching in the chair. "I thought you didn't want to go because you didn't like to dance."

"I don't want to dance with any of them, no." Jean-Luc eyed Will and wondered. Since they were being that candid, he asked, "Are you thinking of making some changes as well?"

"It's difficult to predict how that would go. I don't think we've been together long enough to know if we want more than what we have. I'm beginning to think she may not be telling me everything."

The advice would have been easy, but Jean-Luc refrained. "What are you going to do about that?"

Will chewed on the inside of his cheek, looked sad, and for the first time since he'd come aboard, vulnerable. "I tried to ask. Tried the indirect approach, asking her if something was wrong, if there was anything I could do to help. Not sure what else could be done."

"I hope you work it out. I like Randi."

Something about that caught Will off guard. He blinked at Jean-Luc, then grinned. 

"Perhaps she's a little out of your league," Jean-Luc added. "But she seems to like you just the same."

That led to laughter, and while they recovered from that the computer chimed to alert him someone was waiting at the door. When he admitted the person, Data came in. He had a canvas in his hands. "Good morning, Captain," he said, alerting Jean-Luc to the fact that it was still morning, he was still tired, and yet he knew he wouldn't sleep so long as Deanna was off crusading; she had in fact cut the connection between them, leaving him somewhat bereft, so he welcomed the distraction.

"Is that from the art class?" He had been attending when he could, had a couple of works in progress, but Jean-Luc had not been so diligent due to the recent crisis.

"Yes, sir. I have been using my free time to practice -- I wanted to know what you think." Data brought the canvas around and held it up in both hands. He had painted a nude, and Jean-Luc vaguely remembered there had been a model coming to pose for the class, but it had been one he'd missed. 

"Wow," Will exclaimed. "Great job, Data. It almost looks like a photograph."

"Thank you, Commander Riker."

"I missed that session. But I thought that it was intended to be more abstract? Am I not remembering the syllabus well?"

Data glanced down at his canvas. His head tilted left quizzically. "You are correct, sir. That may be why Lieutenant DeGalle did not give as detailed feedback as usual. Perhaps he did not wish to hurt my feelings."

"Did you do one of these?" Will asked, glancing at Jean-Luc.

"I missed that particular class, as I mentioned," he replied smoothly. He'd made an attempt on his own but the end result had been less than stellar and needed no critique from his officers for him to understand that.

"I believe that the lieutenant will be offering a second session, as there were several who missed the opportunity," Data said. "But he is looking for a model. The ensign who volunteered last time does not wish to do it again."

"Would it matter if the model were male?" Will said.

"I do not believe that it would. The point of the exercise was to work with the anatomy of a person while painting."

"Going to volunteer?" Jean-Luc asked.

"Possibly."

"I would like to speak to you on another matter, Captain, if I may," Data said. He looked at Will expectantly; Will wasn't slow on the uptake, and excused himself. Once he'd retreated from the room Data faced Jean-Luc seriously. "I would like to request your assistance."

"Of course, Data. Please have a seat."

Data set down the painting on the table and perched stiffly on the edge of the couch cushion where Riker had been lounging. "I am attempting to understand relationships," he began. "Specifically the kind of relationship that I have observed you and the other senior officers in, with each other and with other crew."

"Ah," Jean-Luc exclaimed, partially in dismay. He was right -- somehow most of the senior staff had managed to pair off. Geordi and Data were still the exceptions. He was about to recommend Data to the counselor, one or the other of them, but the android went on.

"I observe so much of human behavior, but I am still uncertain as to how I should interpret much of it. Flirtation seems more an art form than something that can be learned. I took Ensign Ogilvy to a concert after you all beamed aboard and she informed me that while she liked the music she did not wish to go out with me again."

It would have been easy to project emotions onto Data's experience, but it looked as though the android was as he insisted he was -- impervious to the pain of rejection. "It's... not an uncommon experience. Not every night out ends with a second date."

"I am attempting modifications to my programming to facilitate -- "

"Data," he exclaimed, unable to listen any longer. He paused and took a breath. Wished Deanna were there to help with this. "Data, I believed you were concerned with career, first and foremost. Why are you suddenly so concerned with this?"

Data frowned slightly. "You and the counselor appear to be very happy. Dr. Crusher and Lieutenant-Commander Yar appear to be very happy. Commander Riker has said that he enjoys spending time with Lieutenant MacAvoy. I would like to understand this more. Even Wesley is attempting to -- "

"I see," he broke in desperately before the list expanded to the rest of the crew. "I'm not sure how much guidance I really have for you. It's entirely individual, unique, what happens between people that draws them together. I would guess that your answer lies more in experience -- it's how most of us come to an understanding, and even that is not complete understanding -- I can be a case in point, still a work in progress."

"But you are marrying the counselor. Is that not considered a successful conclusion to this kind of relationship?"

Jean-Luc considered his friend with a thought about his own trajectory -- his own mistakes, his own difficulties, and the complete lack of guidance in any of it. At the hands of many other captains Data would be adrift -- he was a lieutenant-commander and still asking basic questions. Jean-Luc knew that many officers developed a callous attitude, often ascribing to a more competitive stance than a cooperative one. He himself had been one of them, to a point. Officers like that wouldn't have the patience for someone like Data.

"Some would think that. Relationships aren't competitions, Data. They aren't a means to an end. This isn't a race, or a challenge. And you know that marriages often end as well."

"Yes," Data said. "I have spoken to people who have done so. Sometimes they appear to be very angry about it."

"There is always the possibility of that, yes. Especially if the person falls for someone who treats them very carelessly, does not take the relationship as seriously as the other. At times a person treats the relationship as if it is some sort of game. A way to get something they want, with little respect for the other person. To complicate matters, sometimes the person does not even recognize that they are doing this to the other person. It's possible to hurt someone deeply without recognizing they are doing so until it is too late."

Data took that in with his usual seriousness. "Then if I were to pursue relationships with others in order to learn more about relationships, I would be risking injury to them."

Jean-Luc was taken aback by that conclusion. "If you foster a relationship with someone for the right reasons, you also learn about relationships. Most people agree that the best way to build relationships is to start with friendship. I'm sure you have many friendships aboard. If you find yourself feeling close to a friend, wanting to spend more time with them, that would generally be considered an indication that there might be more there than just friendship."

"Is that how you knew you wanted to be with the counselor?"

Jean-Luc studied the android warily. He wasn't given to intrusiveness or practical jokes. He was asking questions with the same naivete as always. "Sometimes it's a little different. I'm speaking mostly from a human perspective. Other species have different expectations and different customs, in these matters."

"Then your relationship is influenced by the counselor being Betazoid?"

"As much as any relationship is influenced by one of the partners being of a different species. I would anticipate that the same could be said for you. You have said before that you have no feelings, and to many species the way you feel about your partner is a key part of the relationship."

Data considered that for a few minutes, which was a good thing -- suddenly Jean-Luc felt a flood of emotion, happiness and confidence and triumph, and he had to work to keep his face straight. Clearly whatever Deanna had done about her mother had gone well. Fortunately Data didn't appear to notice his lapse.

"I will consider everything you have said. Thank you, sir." Data stood up and headed for the door.

"Data?"

The android turned back in response. "Sir?"

"I'm curious as to why you came to me, instead of the counselor."

"I wanted your perspective as well as hers. I appreciate that you have not treated me as others have."

"Explain," Jean-Luc blurted, startled and dismayed by the thought that any of the crew might have treated him poorly.

"I tried to ask questions of crewmates in previous postings and it was as you say, a learning experience in relationship dynamics. I quickly found that I often cannot trust people that initially seem friendly."

"I'm disappointed that would be the case in Starfleet settings. If it happens here I hope that you inform me."

Data smiled, one of the many things that would lead anyone to think he did have feelings. "I appreciate that, sir. Thank you."

After the android was gone it allowed him to pay more attention to Deanna. She was on her way back. He decided to be out of the uniform by the time she got there.

 

\---------------

 

Deanna knew exactly where her mother would be staying -- the Handlery at Union Square. She wouldn't touch the quarters issued to diplomatic staff by Starfleet -- she disliked the drabness and the location. When Deanna strode up to the front desk, the man behind the desk glared at her down his nose until she identified herself as Lwaxana Troi's daughter. He straightened up his attitude and called up to the room.

When she approached the door of the penthouse suite it opened and her mother, wearing one of her glorious, shining gowns with long draped swathes of material over her arms and her brilliant blue hair -- one of her many wigs -- piled high on her head. She opened her arms and beamed at Deanna. "My dear!"

Deanna stopped well away from her, out of arm's reach.

"Come inside, we'll have a lovely cup of tea," Lwaxana cajoled.

"I quit," Deanna said.

"Dear, why are you being so peculiar?" Lwaxana's bemusement seemed authentic, but Deanna could sense otherwise. Anxiety was starting.

"I quit you. I quit the family. I'm done with you. Why you have to block every attempt I make to be happy with my life -- boycotting my graduation from the Academy, from the university, interfering in my relationships, spreading rumors behind my back -- no real mother does these things. I'm changing my name when I get married and appealing to the appropriate people on Betazed to have my name removed from the Fifth House entirely, so I cease to exist so far as you're concerned. You've done nothing to deserve my attention and you've done nothing to apologize for any of your bad behavior, so I quit -- I'm not your daughter. This last petty act of yours, this story you tried to plant in the media here on Earth about our wedding, pathetic as it was, told me that you do not care about me in any way."

"Now, stop being so strange," Lwaxana exclaimed. "Come inside and we'll talk."

Deanna turned to leave. Predictably, her mother came after her and gripped her arm tightly. "Deanna. You're being so difficult for no reason."

"Touch me again and I'll press charges," Deanna said firmly. "Let me go."

"Deanna," she crooned. The first flickerings of fear started at last.

Deanna wrenched out of her mother's grasp and made it to the lift and pressed the button for the ground floor. Lwaxana followed her but this time stood back, not touching her.

"Please come talk to me." Now she was starting to sound overwrought.

"I realize that you think this is like every other time I've said something like this," Deanna said. She refused to look at her mother's face. "You ignored my requests. I'm not a child, and you aren't going to treat me like one. Nor are you going to threaten me or blackmail me until I leave Jean-Luc. I know you don't like him."

"You know I only do as I do because I want what's best for you," she said in a sickeningly-sweet tone. "You should be with someone young and lovely, someone suitable with a home on Betazed and -- "

"If you continue to attempt to subvert my attempts at a happy life, I will send video footage from your last few birthday parties to some key people," Deanna exclaimed. "People who will not be very happy with your poor choices and your loose lips."

Her mother drew herself up taller. Before she could say anything about hypocrisy, Deanna continued.

"I don't agree with blackmail -- it's wrong," Deanna exclaimed. "So you will look me in the eye, and understand me when I tell you that YOU WILL LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE. Stop trying to manipulate me. Stop threatening me. Stop talking about me to the media. And I will do the same. But if you ignore this conversation and continue as you have been, I WILL RUIN YOU. I will take you to court. I will get a restraining order and compensation for all the damage you've done in my life."

"My dear," she piped in a distraught high tone, "you can't -- "

"YES. I. CAN. And I will. If you force me to." The readout indicated the lift was making its way to their floor again. Deanna faced the closed door in front of her and scowled angrily.

For the first time in her memory, Lwaxana did something she asked her to do. Deanna watched her mother retreat quietly to her door and vanish inside. Lwaxana hadn't denied anything, hadn't admitted anything either - she had apparently taken Deanna seriously. At least for the moment. It felt like a victory.

An unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach wouldn't go away -- Lwaxana Troi was never so easy to deal with as that. But she could sense as she rode down in the lift at that leisurely, civilian pace that lifts in hotels tended to have, her mother was for once feeling serious and starting to regret, cry....

This too was not new. The mood would swing again.

Deanna left the hotel at a rapid walk and let herself feel good at finally having the last word, as she re-established contact with Jean-Luc. She knew there would be moments of guilt later, when she thought about it. But perhaps Mother would leave her alone for a week. They might be able to get married and leave Earth without further issues with her.

Rather than heading down to the nearest transporter facility, she glanced around, tapped her badge, and beamed up from the corner directly. On the walk through the ship she contacted the bridge and lifted her ban on calls from her mother. When she got home, Jean-Luc was in the bedroom sprawled across the bed in his shorts. Fast asleep.

She smiled at her inappropriate, old fiance who didn't have a home on Betazed. "You lovely man," she murmured, turning to begin the process of dismantling her uniform.

Maybe it wasn't entirely smart for either of them, if his friend Quinn were correct and it would impact their careers. She knew what leaving the Fifth House would mean, as well. But she knew leaving him would ruin her. It wasn't an option any longer to step aside and move forward without him.

There was that saying she'd heard before, humans would say 'you made your bed, you lay in it.' Finally it made perfect sense -- she stripped to her underwear and joined him there on top of the covers and dozed, until she detected him awakening.

He smiled and stretched a little, and reached for her. "What happened?"

"I told my mother I wanted her to stop talking to the media. Everything all right?"

"As far as I know. I still need to call Robert about tomorrow." He glanced at her, no doubt picking up the prickle of guilt at not telling him everything. "Deanna?"

"I told her quite forcefully. I actually threatened her, that I would start telling her friends about some of the things she's done behind their backs over the years."

He didn't approve of that. He pushed up on one elbow to look at her.

"It woke her up. It takes a great deal of emotional blowback to get her attention. After about an hour of grieving she'll call me, because she can't help herself. I'll apologize to her. She'll apologize to me for being so extreme in trying to get my attention. There will be a few weeks of quiet, and then she'll start being childish again, because that's what happens."

"This sounds like a pattern you've observed repeatedly."

"It's the pattern of the adult child trying to live with one foot in the dysfunctional relationship with a parent and one foot in the real world. I took myself apart and put myself back together in therapy. That process included a lot of pressure from her, to keep being the petty, argumentative peer she always pretended I was. Even when I was just a child. She has her own language, and it isn't the rational adult language she uses with others -- in her relationships with intimates, with family, it's emotional, reactionary, maladaptive. She can be rational for a time."

"You couldn't simply ask her to be reasonable?"

"I may as well expect to have a proper, intelligent debate with a Nausicaan. It's been years of asking, asking, asking and asking. I've asked, pleaded, begged, ranted, and screamed at the top of my lungs. I have a doctorate and the centuries of research behind me, and if I dare to hold it up in front of her to support my case it ceases to be relevant. I can recite all the reasons why her tactics are manipulative and her expectations of me are warped. Engaging with her is to engage in an alternate reality. You heard her, while she was here." Deanna lay on her back, touched his arm, reached up to caress his cheek. "You wondered at the time why I simply agreed to marry Wyatt. Any other answer from me would have elicited something very different from her. I was waiting for Wyatt to decide not to go through with it. Counting on it, in fact. Why would he honor the tradition once he discovered I wasn't the woman he was dreaming about?"

The internal debate, the questioning, all settled out; he could tell she was telling him the truth. "So you have a long history of this kind of back and forth," he concluded.

"This time, I was serious when I told her I wanted out of it myself."

He frowned. "You're sure about that?"

"I listened to her complain -- her mother complained about the same things. Why do I want to inherit all the politicking and drama they had? I'd be handed a job because it's traditional for me to be given what my mother had, and while I would likely do as well at it as she, I really don't want it."

"Hm."

He was being too pensive. "Jean-Luc?"

"I wonder what else you might be giving up."

"Nothing that gives me so much as a second thought about you."

"Bridge to Troi," came a young male voice. "You have an incoming transmission from Lwaxana Troi."

"Audio only, thank you."

"Oh, Little One, I'm so-o-o sorry," wailed Mother. A familiar refrain. "I won't do that to you again."

"I know, Mother." Deanna raised both hands to cover her eyes. "You say that."

"You know I mean it. I want you to be happy, that's all any mother wants, surely you know that."

"I know, Mother."

"I'm not going to talk to anyone about your wedding. I promise -- it'll be just be family, just like you want. We can ask Senna to come if you like. I know you've always been fond of her."

"Thank you." Deanna held herself firmly in check and waited, thankful that Jean-Luc was now laying next to her doing the same. He had, in fact, informed Senna and Greg of the wedding and they were on the way to Earth.

"We'll have the ceremony at Janaran Falls," Lwaxana went on.

"We can talk about it later, can't we?" Deanna stopped short of offering a reason why, as anything could incite Mother to either desperate measures or overly exuberant reactions at this stage. "There's plenty of time."

"Oh, yes, I should start calling -- I know the perfect florist and we'll want to have that caterer, you know the one, she did the event last spring when Mora married -- "

Deanna moaned, knowing it would go unheard in the torrent of words that said little other than to tell her that Mother had shifted into anxious relief that she wouldn't be permanently rejected. Finally she exclaimed, "Thank you, Mother."

"Of course, an-nee-thing for you my dear," Mother said with all the warmth and good spirits she usually had when getting her way. "You'll tell your dear captain that I can arrange everything, yes?"

"I will. I have to go, Mother, I have an appointment -- I hope you have fun at the ball."

"Surely you'll be there? Olivia said that she has been working to convince your captain to come, don't you think it will be fun?"

"Of course it will, I'll talk to him. But it's likely we'll leave orbit shortly. You know how it can be."

"Good, good, we'll chat again soon." The channel closed with a chirp.

Jean-Luc was stunned, probably trying to put together the description she had given of what had happened with this giddy, happy, exuberant version of Mother he'd just heard.

"It's how she is. She's impervious to criticism and suggestion. Now that she's not trying to interfere we'll have a grace period to do as we intend to without incident -- at least not one she causes."

"Won't she be angry if she's planning a wedding you don't intend to have on Betazed?"

Deanna sat up, crossing her legs and leaning elbows to knees. "You'd think so, but she's only very disturbed by perceived threats to her relationships. What's wrong?"

He was laughing, but in the self deprecating way he sometimes had when he realized something that he thought he should have already understood. "Nothing... I was just having this conversation with Data, about relationships and how you learn as you go...."

"Let's practice sleeping together," Deanna said. "I think I need a nap before lunch. It takes a lot out of me to deal with Mother and I can tell you're tired too."

\

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may think this version of Lwaxana is unrealistic. You may think she is totally believable. In the case of the former, lucky you, not having a relative like this. In the case of the latter -- I hope you are not still trapped in the endless battle and found your way to good boundaries, healthy friends and happier times.


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Karate students get promotions.
> 
> Kids... do kid things. 
> 
> Jean-Luc remembers why he liked solitude. Being social, having relationships, is messy.
> 
> Remember that Rene Picard is appearing well before he did in the series, he's much younger than he was in Family.

The following morning, Jean-Luc had the opportunity to be glad that he had taken most of the previous afternoon off, read a book and let Deanna catch up on her sleep after the fallout of the confrontation with her mother. The day was going to be packed end to end. He took the first hour of the day to go through messages.  There was another offer of a promotion, which he did not immediately respond to, but continued to think about.

One of the messages had been from personnel, requiring his approval for a request for transfer. A quick perusal of the record of Ms. Stanton and a glance at the biology department's status led to approving the transfer. Walker did indeed speak highly of the lieutenant. He copied the transfer to Will's attention, and also the head of the department. 

He sent a missive to the senior staff, inviting them to lunch -- assuming that a trial run might be helpful, prior to throwing them all together for the wedding. And then he returned to the question of a new engineer, something he should discuss with both first officer and counselor, as two of the four candidates were members of the crew. 

The transporter room alerted him to the impending arrival of his family then, and he emerged from the ready room with alacrity. And apparently, there were other people paying attention. He knew Deanna would be warming up for the belt testing, which Tasha had scheduled for that morning without knowing it would overlap the arrival of the Picard family. He didn't expect Will to show up outside the transporter room.

"I got your approval for Izzy Stanton's transfer just a minute before I got a call from her -- we were planning to get together while I was here, her husband was one of my friends on the _Hood_ \-- he took my old job as first officer when I left."

Izzy? It took a moment to remember the woman's name was Isabel. He remembered the boy more clearly. "So you lost a friend, then? I'm sorry to hear it."

"Yeah. Chuck was a good guy." Will looked sad for a moment. "I'm glad Izzy got a transfer to the _Enterprise_ , I'd like to spend a little time with Tommy. He probably needs the support."

The Stanton family was the first to materialize -- mother and child stood transfixed for a few moments when the process completed, and then Tommy grinned and launched himself from the pad at Jean-Luc. He caught himself and drew himself to attention, and saluted.

"At ease," Jean-Luc said with amusement. "How are you Tommy?"

For an answer Tommy started jumping in a circle and laughing. "Great! Great! I'm great!"

Will's eyebrows were somewhere in his hairline at this, and the boy's mother started to laugh. "Come here, silly boy. Thank you for approving my transfer, sir. Lieutenant Stanton, prematurely reporting for duty."

"Welcome aboard," Jean-Luc said. "Commander Riker will show you around, of course."

"Hello, Will," she said with a grin, and then she was hugging him in quite the familiar way. "Tommy, this is your father's friend, Will."

Unexpectedly the boy went shy -- he dodged over and hugged Jean-Luc's leg.

"Commander Riker is my first officer," Jean-Luc said. "He's all right, Tommy." It was all he could do to not shake off the little boy.

It took a little coaxing, but his mother got Tommy to leave with her. As Will followed them out of the transporter room, glancing back at his captain with an amazed expression, O'Brien announced the next transport -- the station in Limoges signaled the ship. So almost before he recovered from the assault of little Tommy, his brother materialized in front of him with his sister-in-law and nephew. They had chosen semi-formal dress, nice slacks for the men and Marie had put on a pretty green dress and put her hair up.

Rene was dumbfounded. He gazed around the transporter room as if he'd found heaven.

"Chief, this is my brother Robert and his family," Jean-Luc said. "If they request transport while we're in orbit you can assume they have my permission."

"Aye, sir. Welcome aboard, Mr. and Mrs. Picard," Chief O'Brien said.

"This way," Jean-Luc said, indicating the door with a sweep of his arm.

"Somehow this is exactly what I expected," Robert said as they left the transporter room. "What do you think, Rene?" His son was clinging to him as much as he could while they were walking.

"I was thinking about taking you to the bridge first, but Deanna told me that she's in karate class this morning doing a belt testing. If you are interested we could go watch," Jean-Luc said.

"Karate?" Marie exclaimed. "I would like to see that!"

"Marie knows karate, does it in her sleep all the time," Robert exclaimed, grinning and dodging a swipe of her hand.

"Do you do karate, Uncle?" Rene asked. He sidled away from his father toward Jean-Luc.

"I do not. Officers often do, it's good exercise and it can be helpful on away missions."

"There are a lot of different kinds of karate," Rene announced. "What kind does she do?" While he spoke he hesitantly took Jean-Luc's hand -- held on to a finger, actually.

"Aikido," Jean-Luc replied, exhausting what he knew about that.

Fortunately, though Rene made it almost all the way to the gym holding his finger, the boy let go so he could go cling to Marie. They rounded the last corner and entered the complex -- there were sufficient accommodations to host nearly a quarter of the crew, because Starfleet prioritized physical fitness. The weight rooms and the track, the other dojo, the room with enough of a holo-grid to create the desired ball court of the moment, they passed all of them and turned left into the noisy dojo. Jean-Luc found Wes and his mother at the back of the room on one of the benches -- most people were seated around the room on the floor, dressed in the white uniforms like the one Deanna had been coming and going in for so long. Deanna herself was across the room among them, and nodded toward them. Wes noticed them and waved them over.

"What's going on?" Jean-Luc asked, as there didn't seem to be anything happening presently.

"Tasha took a break -- we're waiting for the next rank up. We started with the lowest ranks first." Wes glanced at the other Picards as they filed in to sit in a row next to them.

"So I didn't miss anything?"

Beverly snorted. "You missed me tripping over my own feet," she said. "This is your family?"

He introduced them, and Robert left his spot at the end of the bench to come to Beverly and smile at her, greet her in his usual way -- Jean-Luc noticed that Marie wasn't bothered by his admiration of Beverly's bright red hair.

"You do karate?" Rene asked Wes, noticing the uniform he wore. The boy leaned across Jean-Luc's thigh with a familiarity that made him go tense. He was surprised by amusement -- looking up, he saw Deanna watching him with a smile. That led to simultaneously being embarrassed, awkward, and a little happy that Rene was so quickly comfortable with him.

"Yeah," Wes said, grinning at Rene and not even paying attention to Jean-Luc. "Aikido. My mom just got her first promotion, to gokyu."

"Congratulations," Jean-Luc exclaimed. He had to steady Rene with a hand to his back, as the boy leaned further. "Why don't you sit over here next to Wes?"

Tasha swept into the room -- unlike the other people in uniforms, she wore a black belt. Everyone else wore white belts. "Come on, Deanna," she called out. "On the mat."

Everyone seated on the floor around the mat straightened up -- Jean-Luc realized they were all actually kneeling. Deanna stood, bowed low, and stepped up on the mat. 

"She's good," Wes muttered. "This is gonna be fun."

"We need a _uke_ to help Deanna," Tasha announced. "Tom."

One of the other security officers stood -- he was nearly as tall as Riker, and broad-shouldered. Bowing, he too stepped up on the mat.

"Isn't he a little too big?" Marie asked, putting Jean-Luc's concern into words.

"Naw," Wes scoffed. "You'll see."

And after the opponents bowed to each other, they did -- Tom, the burly lieutenant, charged forward and threw a punch. It appeared to have some force behind it, but Deanna slipped under the man's arm and managed to throw him. He hit the mat with some force.

"Oh, yes," Robert muttered.

Tom charged at her and was thrown down in several different directions, bouncing to his feet and throwing more kicks and punches. She even hit the mat herself and used herself as a fulcrum to pitch him bodily over her. Tasha called a halt, then instructed Deanna to perform her weapon kata -- Jean-Luc watched her spin and jab and strike with a long staff, occasionally throwing kicks and spinning into a low sweep, and at the end she faced Tasha and bowed. Tasha returned the bow, took the staff from her, and backed toward the edge of the mat as Deanna turned to face Jean-Luc and wave.

"Worf," Tasha shouted.

A movement from the left, behind them, and Worf charged into the room at Deanna. She had no time to do anything but react out of instinct -- but instead of running from the snarling Klingon she sidestepped and grabbed, and ungracefully tossed Worf with a bit of a flop and a spin, and he went down on the mat and slowly got up.

Tasha had a wily, proud grin. "Good job!"

Deanna had both her hands over her mouth as she watched Worf approach her. Her shock was obvious and still overwhelming her. He held out his hand. "Congratulations, Counselor," he exclaimed.

Wes jumped to his feet and started to clap, and everyone followed -- the kneeling students, the watchers sitting on the benches and Robert and Marie -- Jean-Luc stood up once he overcame his shock and then others were doing that as well.

Deanna clasped Worf's hand, smiling up at him, and turned -- she was still in shock, it appeared, as she was a bit wobbly on her feet. She bowed to the students of her class, bowed again to Tasha, and went toward Jean-Luc, nearly stumbling as she left the edge of the mat. Without hesitation she threw her arms around his neck -- he was left to hug her in front of applauding crew, and after a few seconds of no one reacting to that, he was able to stop feeling awkward about that.

"Good show, my dear," Robert exclaimed. Rene was grinning as well, and had wrapped his arms around their legs as much as he could. Deanna pulled back and tried to settle for clasping Marie's hands, but Marie didn't care that she was in a sweaty uniform, she hugged her anyway.

Things settled down -- Tasha had other people trying to earn a promotion, and called for order -- and Deanna told them to go on without her, she was going to stay and support other students in their endeavors, and meet them for lunch. So Jean-Luc continued the tour.

Robert was discussing with his son the likelihood of his learning some form of martial art in the near future, as they wandered back out toward the nearest lift. Rene bounced forward at the door as Jean-Luc led the way toward it, and it opened. And there were Riker and Isabel Stanton, and her little boy. Rene almost ran into him. The two recovered quickly and started to say hi to each other, exchanged names, and started chatting. Riker came out, stepping around the boys, and smiled at them.

"We appear to be touring the ship in reverse," Jean-Luc commented. "This is my brother, Robert, his wife Marie. And Rene." He pointed at Rene's head. "Commander Riker is the first officer, and Lieutenant Stanton is a new member of our crew. As is Tommy."

Tommy realized he was derelict in his duties at that, and jumped into a salute. Fortunately he didn't require a response, he was too excited and bounced around in that odd manner to which he seemed prone. "Hi Captain! Hi!"

"We're going to check out the gym. Isn't there a belt testing or something going on today?" Will asked.

Robert chuckled at that. "Or something," he crowed. "So where is this bridge you keep talking about?"

Jean-Luc waited for Isabel to leave the lift and went in. "Onward and upward, Robert."

 

\-----------

 

"His brother looks like him," Tasha said. Her grin wouldn't stop.

Deanna walked out of the gym with her friend. She'd changed into one of her dresses, a dark blue one she wore on duty from time to time with matching tights and shoes, and brushed her hair back into combs. "Are you wearing a uniform to lunch?"

It derailed Tasha's amusement and excitement into anxiety. "Do you think I should change?"

"Beverly mentioned something about not wearing her uniform, maybe go home and see what she's doing? I'm sure it isn't required."

"Good idea." They went in the lift together and found the car empty. "His nephew is so cute with him. Guess you have an idea of what your kids will look like."

"Deck three," Deanna said. "How are you? I haven't talked to you much since we got to Earth. It's been so incredibly busy. I wish that our night at the club hadn't been interrupted."

Tasha looked at the floor while they rode up through the decks. "I think we're okay. We don't talk a lot about the relationship - about the wedding, and leave, sure, we're going to head for Spain after you get married and go wherever you're going."

"Is Wes going with you?"

"He has some sort of plan -- Beverly's letting him go with two of the families who are taking their kids to Miami." Tasha pursed her lips. "Did you see the woman Will was with?"

Will had come into the dojo with a woman in uniform and a little boy, sat on the benches watching Iverson do his kata, and left shortly after. "I did. So?"

"So?"

"We get new officers all the time. Were you thinking he was replacing Randi?"

Tasha shrugged and let it go. "I hope not. I think I'll go change too after all," she said when the door opened.

"I'll see you in a bit, then," Deanna said as she moved out of the lift and down the corridor.

The room was arranged already -- a long oval table surrounded by chairs, set back from the broad bank of viewports looking out over the saucer section and beyond at the moon, looming in the distance. The only person present, the only other early bird, was Will. He was still in uniform and standing with his hands behind his back looking out; at the sound of the door he'd turned his head.

"Hi, Will, ready for lunch?"

"Sure," he said, turning back to the view.

"You're upset about something?" She went around the table and stood next to him, arms crossed and keeping an arm's length between them.

"I'm not upset, really. Concerned is a better word. Randi seems upset, and I can't get her to tell me what it's about."

"I'm sorry to hear that. It's hard to get someone to talk to you when they're not wanting to do that."

"I'm not really sure... it's been a few months of some good times but there are things that make me wonder. She doesn't want kids, and she doesn't like jazz. She says she does but you can tell -- what?" He had noticed her frowning.

"Not liking jazz doesn't matter, Will. Did you tell her anything about us?" It was a hunch that it might have something to do with that; Randi had mixed feelings about Deanna that she hadn't felt comfortable speaking out loud in Deanna's presence.

Will rolled his eyes and shifted his weight to his left leg, and started shaking his head. "Of course I did. I told her more than I probably should have. I told her we're still friends, and that I was...."

"Is she still coming to the wedding? To lunch?"

"Frankly, I don't even know. I think... she saw me with Isabel and Tommy, when we went through sciences. She didn't look happy to see me."

Deanna sighed quietly. She knew there was more to this than he was saying, or realized. "I'm sorry. I thought you were suited to each other -- I know you love her."

"Sometimes that isn't enough," he muttered, glaring at a shuttle going by in front of the _Enterprise_. "You know, I have to wonder if Starfleet knows there are commercial shuttles running tours around the ship?"

"We can ask the admiral later today." Deanna turned around just as the door opened. "Hello, Geordi, how are you?"

Geordi, like Will, was still in uniform and smiling. "Hey," he said, strolling over to them. "Guess the party hasn't started yet?"

"Not yet. How are you settling in down in engineering?"

The grin said the shine hadn't worn off the promotion, and the anxiety said he was starting to settle in and feel the weight of the responsibility of the department he'd been handed. Jean-Luc had gone to him late yesterday afternoon to inform him he was the new chief engineer. It left Geordi stunned and giddy. "Doing okay. Thanks, Counselor."

"Congratulations, Geordi, you'll do a great job," Will said, losing his brooding face to be supportive of his friend.

"We should celebrate -- maybe tomorrow," Deanna said. "Throw you a little party in Ten Forward."

"Maybe day after tomorrow," Geordi said. "I'm not sure I'm recovered from the shock yet. And I have plans -- I'm going to see a friend who works on McKinley tomorrow, have a look at what he's working on."

Then Worf arrived, also in uniform, and stood stiffly aside, glancing around the room -- a little frustrated that the rest of the guests weren't present and he couldn't get through the event in good time, perhaps. Deanna smiled at him. "Thank you for helping with my belt testing, Worf," she exclaimed, sidling over to brush his sleeve with her fingers.

It softened him ever so slightly. "You are welcome."

"I thought you were doing mok'bara, not aikido?" Will exclaimed.

"I am. Lieutenant Yar requested that I provide a surprise attack to determine how well she defended herself. She performed adequately."

"So you ?" Will asked, amused to no end, grinning at her with a glint in his eyes.

She didn't answer, but turned toward the door -- seconds later it opened and the guests of honor filed in. Rene had been excited and ecstatic and all over the spectrum of overjoyed; she'd been monitoring the family while she'd cheered on the other students in aikido. At the moment he was weary and draped over his father's shoulder, despite being a little too big to carry that way. Marie came in behind Robert, smiling happily, and then came Beverly and Tasha. Jean-Luc was last with a bottle of wine in each hand. Clearly they had arranged the transfer of the many cases of wine Robert had promised them.

"Are we all getting our own meals, or is there a set menu?" Deanna asked. "Poor Rene, he looks so tired. So do you, Marie."

"He lasted longer than we expected," Robert said. "He made it through the bridge, the engineering, the lab -- "

"Sickbay," amended Jean-Luc as he put the wine bottles on the table.

"Yes, that, and somewhere after that magic room that takes you to Rome and Mars and Vulcan he lost the ability to stay awake." Robert went to the chair that Marie pulled out from the table, and sat down to rearrange his son in a more comfortable manner.

Jean-Luc was in a wonderful mood. Deanna listened to him introduce everyone to his family with more warmth than he typically displayed -- some, especially Worf and Geordi, were surprised by his relaxed and genial manner. And as everyone settled around the table in chairs, he came to Deanna and put his arm around her waist, collecting her and escorting her to the two chairs next to Robert. Which was something else the senior staff rarely saw, as it wasn't like him to touch her that way while aboard the ship unless they were alone.

But it was obvious that he was still working through the changes he'd been making, over the past months, changes she had neither asked for nor anticipated, and he ignored looks from around the table. "I believe Mr. Data is on the bridge, but he should be here by the time we get our meals. What would you like, Robert?"

It was a strange combination of dinner companions, Deanna thought. She chose a blue leaf salad and engaged in teasing chitchat between Robert and others at the table. For all of Robert's youthful complaints that his younger brother had been the favored sibling, he was the one leading the conversation -- and it was obvious that Will was enjoying the opportunity to obtain information that he wouldn't ask his captain for directly, with the questions about the Picard home and life at the vineyard.

As the last plates were recycled and Robert, relieved of the burden of a sleeping six-year-old by Marie, stood in front of the viewports holding court with Tasha, Will and Beverly, described how the winery worked. And then the "backward" brother of Jean-Luc Picard shocked them by asking questions about the ship and Starfleet that indicated he knew more than he pretended.

Deanna drew away from the laughing and talking and still-drinking group, to sit next to Marie at the table. Marie, letting her son slumber on in her arms, draped over her chest with his short legs dangling on either side of her lap, smiled at Deanna and nodded approval. "You have good friends."

"Would you like to go put him to bed? Get some sleep yourself? You are very tired as well -- the time difference. Let Robert keep talking, we have guest rooms."

"Thank you," Marie murmured.

Deanna took the boy from her, carefully, and carried him toward the door. Jean-Luc noticed but stayed. In a suite on deck four Deanna put Rene on the couch -- he moaned a little but settled back into deep slumber even as she put a cushion under his head.

"Such nice rooms," Marie said, looking around. She took Deanna's hands, as Deanna came to her from the couch. "My dear, how are you? Jean-Luc said you were hurt recently?"

"I'm fine, Marie. No need for concern."

But wide hazel eyes searched her face. "This is dangerous isn't it? Even for a counselor. Starfleet is all we here about from Rene, but he doesn't talk about reality, we know. Jean-Luc hinted at more than a few times he's been in that sickbay, joking with your doctor. Aren't you worried about him? He isn't so young as he was."

Deanna smiled sadly at her, remembered similar conversations with friends who were not Starfleet. "No. He's more experienced, though. And the first officer goes on many of the away missions instead of him."

"You go on missions. He told us that you saved his life. That you were injured doing so. Forgive me, I know I've just met you, but I'm going to worry when you both fly off in this ship and go back to exploring new worlds and meeting aliens." Marie squeezed her fingers gently.

"I can't tell you there's no basis for concern. But we're both experienced officers, and we both have a lot of training. We'll be fine."

Marie wasn't appeased. It was easy to see how Robert must find it difficult to deny her anything. She had a frown that managed to convey more concern than anger, fear, anguish even. "I asked your computer a question earlier, while we were on the tour. Jean-Luc was entertaining Robert with pretending he could learn to fly one of the shuttles. The life expectancy of Starfleet officers on starships...."

"I know, Marie. But I won't make him do anything he doesn't want to do. He's talked about retirement. He wants children, and he wavers, but he's not ready yet. I promise I'll talk to him."

When Marie finally went off to bed herself, Deanna returned to the conference room to find they'd all moved to the ring of comfortable chairs and couches at the other end of the room, and Data was standing in the center reciting Ode to Spot. He had just adopted a cat he'd found in the street in San Francisco, while sightseeing. The cat had no collar or microchip, had been scruffy and neglected, but it took a liking to Data and followed him for a block. Now he was writing poetry about the cat.

Deanna quietly went to the chair Jean-Luc was seated in, and perched on the arm of it, crossing her legs at the ankles and resting her hands in her lap. Jean-Luc was a little startled, as the others were, but he was pleased by it. So was Robert -- he was sitting on the end of a couch, on Jean-Luc's right, grinning up at her. She smiled and turned to watch Data as he completed the last stanza.

 

\-----------------

 

"I thought it went well," Jean-Luc said, as they came back into their quarters at last.

But he was tired -- he'd been tense, waiting for a clash of some sort, or a misunderstanding. Robert had boldly chatted up Worf, Data, and Will -- Jean-Luc had listened in shock as his backward brother proved he knew more than he'd expected about the galaxy at large and Starfleet. Worf had asked questions in return about the vineyards and wine, talked about blood wine and the chances of Robert having the equipment to make it.

Surreal.

"Do we have time for a short nap before we beam down for dinner with the admiral?" Deanna asked, preceding him into the bedroom as she shook out her hair.

"I think so. I'll wake you when it's time."

She turned around and watched him approach. "You don't want to take one yourself? You're very tired."

"I'm going to sit for a while and read."

"All right."

He left her in the bedroom and chose a book from his shelves in the living room. He read until he knew she was asleep, and set aside his book as he sat there on the couch alone, looking up at the stars -- and the distant faintly-illuminated outline of an Oberth class going by over them. 

He thought about his brother and how much he'd changed -- Robert, cuddling his little boy and laughing with him, and watching Marie with happy eyes. And his officers had laughed and talked with them, which had him shifting gears, thinking about how much he had missed over the years sitting alone reading.

And yet, it was good to sit there, alone. Now that Deanna was asleep he missed her presence -- but that, too, was a relief, to let himself think about the wedding, children, the future without concern for what she would make of his feelings. Not that she had commented or reacted to anything he'd felt in a way that concerned him. 

Senna had told him, in the brief conversation they'd had a few days before about the wedding, that Lwaxana would be tenacious in a way that he didn't understand. Deanna's description of how she'd had to act to get her mother's attention clashed with what he knew of how she preferred to handle conflict. It set him ill at ease in a way he couldn't quite articulate yet. 

While he sat there musing, someone came to the door. He gave permission automatically at the sound of the tone, and watched in shock as Tommy Stanton came in. The boy looked around, then grinned at him and ran to the coffee table, bouncing to a stop. "Hi!"

"Hello." Jean-Luc glanced at the door, which had closed behind him -- his mother was not with him, obviously. "This is unexpected."

"I like my room," Tommy shouted exuberantly, flinging his arms up -- he crossed them over his head, gripping his own elbows, and started to sway and twist. "I like the ship!"

"I'm glad you're satisfied. Does... your mother know you are here? How did you find me?"

Tommy giggled and twisted back and forth. An exaggerated no, apparently. "I asked the computer. Want to play a game?"

"I don't really -- that's a table," he exclaimed, as the boy climbed up and stood on the coffee table. "Please don't stand on that."

Tommy chewed the inside of his cheek. "Okay," he chirped, took two steps, and jumped at the couch. It was obvious that he would fail to make it across the gap between the table and the couch. Jean-Luc went into motion at once, catching him in mid-air and putting him on his feet, on the floor. Tommy stood gazing up at him for just a few seconds of contemplation then leaned on his knee.

"Computer, location of Lieutenant Stanton," Jean-Luc said.

"Lieutenant Stanton is in her quarters on deck seven, section four, cabin two," the computer said.

"Let's go, Tommy," he said, rising and tugging his uniform unnecessarily straight. He stepped around the end of the table. Tommy dashed around the other end, met him on the way to the door, and grabbed his fingers. Jean-Luc resisted the urge to pull away. The boy's hand was sticky.

When they left the lift on deck seven, they were immediately confronted by his anxious mother, who stopped jogging toward the lift and put her hands to her head. "Tommy! I told you to sit and play with your game while I was in the shower! I'm so sorry, Captain," she exclaimed. "I hope he didn't interrupt or bother you."

Tommy gaped up at him, his mother's distress making an impact. "Did I do something wrong?"

"People make appointments to see me, Tommy," Jean-Luc explained, drawing on the patience he had to rely on in difficult diplomatic situations. "Maybe you didn't know that before. But it's a rule for everyone aboard, so you should follow it too. Ask your mother to do that for you next time, all right?"

"Okay," Tommy cried, throwing his arms around Jean-Luc's leg.

"Come on, let's go get ready for dinner," his mother said.

"Can we invite the captain?" Tommy went to take his mother's outstretched hand.

"I'm sure he has other plans. Maybe some other time, all right?" The lieutenant smiled tentatively at Jean-Luc and led her son away down the corridor.

Jean-Luc returned to his own quarters on deck eight. Checking the time, he went in the bedroom to find Deanna starting to sit up. "I'm going to get in the shower," he said.

"Did someone come in? You were upset about something?"

"Tommy came for a visit, unexpectedly. He wanted to play a game."

Deanna smiled at that. She started to pull off her dress. "Did you?"

"I took him home. His mother didn't even know he'd left their quarters." He left his pips on the dressing table and dragged off his shirt as he headed in for a sonic shower. He returned to the bedroom for pants, shirt, shoes, while Deanna took her turn in the shower. She came out and started the familiar process of putting on her underwear and choosing a dress.

"Is Admiral Quinn married?" she asked as she pulled on a blue jacket over the lighter blue dress.

"No, never has. I think he was engaged for a while."

"Did you know her?"

He watched her step into shoes. "I didn't. There have been the usual long gaps in contact with him as with any Starfleet friend, and so I never met her. Quinn never told me what happened that called it off; one minute I had an invitation, the next a cancellation."

"Is there anything you think I should know before we go?" Deanna crossed to sit in front of the mirror and do her hair and makeup.

"Not really." He thought that might be nervousness talking, but debated the wisdom of pointing that out. "I intend to ask him some pointed questions."

"If you don't, I will. He's alarmed you into thinking there's something wrong with having a relationship with me." She slipped the second earring in place on her left ear.

"It's more a matter that I'm having a relationship with one of my own senior officers, I think. He finds it questionable."

Deanna gazed at her reflection for a moment. "You do as well."

"You're saying I should stay in denial that it might be a problem?"

"No," she said mournfully. Now she sat with bowed head. "I suppose not."

"Do I look presentable enough?"

She turned, studied him briefly, and smiled. "You know I like that shirt."

"Well, I certainly didn't wear it for Quinn." He buttoned the cuffs of the white long-sleeved shirt, adjusted the short lapels, and put his hands behind his back. "If you're ready?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon says Tasha taught aikido. There are many studios that do belt rankings many ways. Traditional Japanese way has everyone in white belts through six kyu rankings until they achieve 1st dan ranking - shodan, when students become black belts. 
> 
> If you cruise Youtube you get the idea most martial artists don't take aikido that seriously. Well, I took a different art, a blend of karate and jujitsu and kenpo, and if you get yourself trained to the point of using throws on instinct, you bet it works.


	42. Chapter 42

The admiral's home was in the green rolling hills north of San Francisco. They materialized in the yard on a broad gray patio that appeared to have been set there solely for transporter use. No furniture or decoration, just a round pavement with a path that led to the house. Jean-Luc walked it with her, his hand in the small of her back. He was feeling protective of her, and Deanna wondered if he were fully aware of that.

The house itself was large, more than she would expect a single person to have, but he likely had people maintaining it for him. "Quite a place," Jean-Luc commented. They reached the porch and went up a few steps to cross to the front door, a broad double door that slid open as they approached.

"It reminds me a little of Mother's summer home," Deanna commented diffidently. "A little smaller, perhaps. The pillars look familiar." She gestured at the columns supporting the porch.

It took him aback, so he halted in the tiled, gilded foyer and regarded her with raised brows, and was turning to go to the computer console on the wall when Greg Quinn arrived, coming through an open door on the right. "There you are," he exclaimed, smiling. "Welcome to my home. Come on through -- we'll sit on the back patio."

Quinn, like them, wore civilian clothing. He led them out to a poolside table and a woman in a black pantsuit turned from it with a smile. She went inside at once. There were placemates and silverware on the table already, and glasses.

"I hope you like wine," Quinn exclaimed. "Commander, do you prefer red or white?"

"I'm partial to Zinfandel or Cabernet, thank you. You have a lovely home, Admiral. And please call me Deanna." She sat in the chair Jean-Luc pulled out for her.

The woman returned and put a platter of appetizers on the table, in the center. Quinn told her to get the Cabernet and she did so, returning with it after a few minutes and pouring glasses for each of them. After she finished and put the bottle on the table, Quinn watched her go back in the house then turned to Jean-Luc with the kind of emotional settling into resolute tension that Deanna had always sensed in people just before they delivered an ultimatum.

"Have you heard from Admiral Trafar?"

"I had a message from him," Jean-Luc replied. "If I wanted a promotion I could have had one already, however."

Quinn was disappointed. He picked up his wine glass and studied the contents for a second before sipping. "You don't want a promotion?"

Jean-Luc frowned at his old friend. "I'm not sure why you think I'd want one. I don't like politics, you know that."

"Jean-Luc," Quinn began, then his eyes drifted to Deanna.

She smiled and put the glass she hadn't yet put to her lips back on the table. "He's never wanted it. That didn't change when I became a factor."

Quinn set his jaw, his head coming up slightly, but took a breath and calmed again. "This is the path we take, Jean-Luc. Starfleet needs people like you with a wealth of experience in diplomacy and -- "

"I'm a captain, Greg. I never wanted to be anything else."

Quinn's mouth drew in on itself. He hadn't anticipated this much resistance. "Are you thinking of retiring, then?"

The woman returned and transferred plates of food from a large tray to the table in front of each of them. "Would there be anything else, sir?"

"No, thank you, Tracy." Quinn glanced at his food and back to Jean-Luc. When the door had closed again behind the woman the admiral said, "Have you thought about what it will mean, cutting off your career like that?"

"I'm not quitting, Greg. Why are you being this way?"

No answer, but the emotions behind his tense, composed expression of disapproval told Deanna he wasn't telling them the whole story.

"I wonder if you may be concerned for him," Deanna put in quietly, picking up her fork and poking at the cauliflower.

Quinn gazed at her with startled, bloodshot eyes. Weariness dragged at him, wearing off the edge of his frustration. "Ship duty is a young man's game, Jean-Luc," he said at last. "I know you enjoy it. But I'd hate to see you run up against one of those dire situations and lose your health, or your life, because you aren't twenty any more."

Jean-Luc turned to meet Deanna's eyes for a few seconds. "Your last mission as a captain went as wrong as mine with the _Stargazer_ , I know. But perhaps you're still being affected by that? I intend to do more with my life than be a flag officer, for a while yet. I intend to have children and friends, and wine and song. I want to go on archaeological expeditions. I might teach, or travel."

Quinn stared at him anew with tired eyes. Jabbing the small steak on his plate with the fork, he sawed off a piece. "Tell me about the Q," he said unexpectedly, changing the subject. "I listened to your reports, I'd like to hear what you didn't mention."

Deanna ate quietly and listened to them talk about Q -- Jean-Luc didn't care to, but it was easier to discuss with Quinn than the more personal topics, and he even managed to laugh a little with Quinn about the mariachi band on the bridge. It led to reminiscing eventually, and Quinn enjoyed that well enough. It was often the case that old friends grew apart. Deanna had experienced it herself.

"I have a question," she dropped into a lull in the conversation as Tracy put a dish of dessert, creme brulee, in front of each of them.

"Yes, my dear?" Quinn replied.

"Are the commercial tours that have been circling the _Enterprise_ for the past few days doing so with Starfleet approval?"

Jean-Luc glanced askance at her. Quinn raised an eyebrow as he picked up a spoon of custard. "Yes, there's a limited contract -- part of a recruitment tactic by the public relations department. Are they becoming a nuisance?"

"No, not that I'm aware -- I think Will may have checked already, otherwise he would have told you, Jean-Luc -- I hadn't heard one way or the other." Deanna took a taste of the brulee. It was as good as the rest of the food; the admiral had either good replicator recipes or a good cook.

"I don't like that," Jean-Luc said softly, eyeing his friend.

"It wasn't up to me, Jean-Luc. That's Admiral Dougherty's department. Would you like a cigar?"

"Would you mind if I took a walk?" Deanna inclined her head left, toward the manicured garden that occupied half the fenced yard. It was a big enough yard to take a walk in. "I don't care for cigar smoke."

"Not at all."

Deanna took her stroll through the flowers, admiring them -- she recognized a few as being from other worlds, a difficult thing to do in a garden that wasn't in a controlled environment like the _Enterprise_ 's arboretum, where climate could be controlled with low level force fields for individual plants if necessary. She watched a hummingbird swoop low over bright red blossoms and buzz around her and away.

Earth was so beautiful now. She looked up at the rolling hills behind Quinn's home, with clumps of trees here and there, under the blue sky -- scattered cirrus clouds floated overhead, starting to turn colors as the sun was dropping toward the horizon. She knew that over the ridge there was an ocean. It was difficult for her to believe that just a couple of centuries ago, drastic measures had to be taken to clean up the environment after humans had nearly destroyed it.

When she returned to the patio Jean-Luc stood up from the table. He'd discussed something very seriously with his friend and come to no agreement; he was frustrated, they both were, and Quinn was talking. "I'm supposed to leave for another sector tomorrow," he said. "But I'd like to be there -- I wish you all the best, Jean-Luc. And you, Deanna. Thank you for coming."

"We're going?" she asked.

"You've lost track of time, I see," Jean-Luc replied amiably. "You've forgotten the appointment already?"

"It's such a lovely garden," she said, gesturing at the flowers. "Yes, you're right. Thank you for inviting us."

Quinn escorted them toward the front of the house, and Jean-Luc exchanged a few words with him at the front door then walked her down toward the transport point.

"Are you still going to let his opinion influence your decisions?" she murmured.

"No. I don't think it's based in professional concerns." Jean-Luc had an amused smirk -- he was thinking about something long past, about himself. "I've always looked at Quinn with the expectation that he was giving me informed advice. He's a little older than I, and he always had a goal. I wonder if he isn't looking at me through a bias informed by his failures."

"Failures?"

They stopped in the middle of the transport area. "Do you see anything unusual about his situation here?" Jean-Luc glanced back at the house.

"He's done well for himself. People of means frequently have homes larger than they need. Sad that he has no one to share it with."

"You weren't with me for the last conversation with him by design, I suppose? Gave me a chance to ask him what exactly he was concerned about."

"I don't like cigar smoke. I thought you might want to talk to him, too, I suppose."

 "I think he's projecting his fears on me. Making assumptions about me. But I know what I want."

Deanna smiled at him, happy to hear he'd resolved that doubt that had been eating away at his attention for a while. "What is that?"

"You want me to repeat myself?" He smiled and tapped his badge. "Picard to Enterprise, two to beam up."

They re-materialized and nodded to Chief O'Brien as they left the transporter room. Jean-Luc walked with her down the corridor at his usual rapid pace. She kept up with him and waited at the turbolift for a moment, and they stepped into the empty car together.

"What did he say that led to you making up an appointment that neither of us has?" she asked.

He didn't reply to that immediately. They were leaving the lift on deck eight by the time he finished the thought process that kept him mulling and discontent. "He told me that the days of Starfleet overlooking the peccadilloes of starship captains are long past."

Deanna shook her head at that. "What does that even mean?"

"I can only suppose that he means those infrequent instances where orders or regulations are flouted in the name of friendship, or loyalty. And it may mean that the general attitude of the flag ranks has shifted regarding intimate relationships between officers. But he didn't clarify, and I didn't ask. I'd rather verify this through other channels. It may affect our path in the very near future."

She couldn't settle the gnawing in the pit of her stomach, thinking about the ramifications of that. She slowed her pace and found herself shaking her head.

"Deanna, don't let this upset you this way. It's not going to affect us."

"Of course it will. We both chose this life -- why would it not affect us?" she exclaimed.

He stopped walking, let her catch up to him, and put his hand on her arm. "What I mean is that I'm not going to allow it to tear us apart," he said softly. "I know that it could mean leaving Starfleet. I don't want to do that, just yet, but you know I've thought about retiring."

She tried not to break down in the corridor but knew it showed in her face too well, and her vision was blurred with tears. "I know."

He took her arm and guided her down the corridor, let her go in the door first. "I don't understand why it makes you so sad, to think of this changing -- you don't have to leave Starfleet if I retired, you know."

"I'm sad because I enjoy working with you, and so do my friends. I'm sad because if we leave all of us will go in different directions. I enjoy what we have here, all of the senior staff work together very well."

He nodded, and it resonated with him. "I've felt better -- I know I told you before, that it wasn't feeling right to me. But it's changed. Maybe it started with you, but I feel like it's also changed in other respects. Will seems to be all right again. I haven't been feeling awkward with Beverly and Wes. Which is why I'm wanting to stay, Deanna. Also why I want to obtain more information and determine whether Quinn's concerns have validity -- I want to either protect what we have or to avoid consequences, to ourselves or to our fellow officers, if possible. In other words -- to keep it the way it is. If it's possible. But I'll be open to other paths. That's where I am in all this."

"Okay," she said softly. "I'm tired -- can we sit and read for a while before bed?"

"Of course. I'll get my book."

 

\-----------------------

 

When the chime went off it was at half-volume, which told him he'd been reading for a while. He'd set the computer to drop the volume after eighteen hundred hours. Deanna was asleep sitting up -- propped in the end of the couch, her legs curled up and her book fallen to the side. "Come," he murmured.

Will came in, still in uniform. He noted Deanna's slumber and spoke softly. "I wanted to check in, on how it went with the admiral."

"I'm concerned, but I think it more likely that he has objections biased by personal trauma," Jean-Luc said. "He's trying to warn me that Starfleet won't be tolerant of relationships between senior officers. He wants me to believe I'll be called on the carpet, or somehow penalized -- I told him I had no aspirations to promotion and it seemed to take the wind out of his sails."

"Politics," Will muttered. He perched on the edge of the chair and shook his head. "You don't like them, neither do I."

"Are you getting the offers as well?"

Will frowned, confirming the guess, and shook his head disapprovingly. "I thought about taking the promotion -- I've only been aboard for six months, barely into the ten year mission, and they offered me an Ambassador class. I'm not sure I want to take it."

"Nothing like having your own, you know. Are you leaning one way or the other?"

He sighed heavily. "If your friend Quinn is right I wouldn't be able to take Randi with me, most likely. And I'm not certain that would survive long distance. It's not there yet."

"I understand how you feel. You have an internal conflict to resolve."

Will chewed on the matter for a moment. "Do you think Quinn is right, that there's some consequence -- have things changed at Command? I never noticed they paid that much attention. And the fact that families are now allowed aboard would suggest the opposite."

"It may be more of a matter of senior officers pairing off with other senior officers. But I intend to discover whether there's anything to it before we leave -- the wedding is in three days, and I intend to arrange an appointment sometime tomorrow with the fleet admiral to sound it all out, find out which way the wind blows." He glanced at Deanna then, as she made some indistinct noise in her sleep and curled up a little more; her brows came together and she frowned in her sleep. Perhaps a reaction to the topic of conversation and his feelings about it?

"You need any help with anything? For the wedding, I mean."

"The ceremony itself will be very straightforward and short. Marie's jumped in with arranging flowers and food, and enlisting friends of hers for decorating -- we'll simply show up and have the ceremony, and spend however many hours we wish celebrating with friends before we go on the honeymoon."

"You have a destination in mind yet?"

He had it narrowed down, but had not decided just yet. "Somewhere remote and relatively unpopulated. I have a few ideas."

"Trying to make it a surprise?" Will smiled at that thought. "We'll have the upgrades done by the time you get back. I'm only taking a couple of days myself."

"Fuck," Deanna muttered, sitting up suddenly.

Will stared at her in dismay, both eyebrows twitching. "What did she say?"

"She's mostly asleep."

"Fuckers," she muttered, rolling over and curling up facing away from them. The book she'd been reading slid off and thumped on the floor.

"Is that all she does? I'm a little concerned for your safety," Will said.

"She doesn't wake up easy."

"Hm, not what -- I'd better get going," Will said.

"Not what she used to do, you were going to say. But I'd guess none of us is quite what we were." Jean-Luc smiled benignly at his first officer and friend. "Say hi to Randi for me."

He watched Will leave, and watched Deanna sigh and shift her arm, twitch her lips. Jean-Luc smiled at her, watched her frown ease and her face fall into less stressed lines. Raising his book once more, he went back to reading. As he turned the page, she moaned softly -- when he looked she was peering at him through her long black lashes.

He flipped back two pages and began to read aloud.

_There are two kinds of intelligence: one acquired,_

_as a child in school memorizes facts and concepts_

_from books and from what the teacher says,_

_collecting information from the traditional sciences_

_as well as from the new sciences._

 

_With such intelligence you rise in the world._

_You get ranked ahead or behind others_

_in regard to your competence in retaining_

_information. You stroll with this intelligence_

_in and out of fields of knowledge, getting always more_

_marks on your preserving tablets._

 

_There is another kind of tablet, one_

_already completed and preserved inside you._

_A spring overflowing its springbox. A freshness_

_in the center of the chest. This other intelligence_

_does not turn yellow or stagnate. Its fluid,_

_and it doesn't move from outside to inside_

_through conduits of plumbing-learning._

 

_This second knowing is a fountainhead_

_from within you, moving out._

 

 

Deanna smiled at that, closed her eyes, but reached out to grip his hand.

"Ready for bed?"

"I suppose," she murmured, stretching a little. But she didn't move from her spot on the couch.

"Come to bed, you're going to be stiff if you stay here." When he pulled on her arm she sat up, moaning again.

"Fuck," she muttered once more.

"Let's go, we can talk about that in bed."

Of course, she didn't quite wake up even though she fumbled around until she'd taken off her dress. She was asleep before he returned from the bathroom.

Greg and Senna should be there tomorrow, he thought.


	43. Chapter 43

"It's easy to see we're in for a grand adventure over the next year," Jean-Luc said, his eyes flicking up from the monitor to his first and second officers. Data was impassive; Will had his usual little grin that he often wore in routine meetings, for some reason. He'd wanted to keep them in the loop so far as the most recent reports for the regions they were being redeployed into.

"The Romulans, after all this time," Will said. "I hope this doesn't mean war."

Jean-Luc glanced down at the time, and sighed. "Well, we'll have some time to contemplate what it means -- Geordi is bringing up lists of upgrades beyond what Avery was suggesting. Some of it will require a few days more than what we'd anticipated."

"How long will you be on your honeymoon, Captain?" Data asked.

"Five days."

"Just long enough to start worrying about the ship," Will said.

"I should go greet my guests -- you have the bridge, Number One."

Greg and Senna, and their three children, had beamed aboard while he was discussing the upgrades and the reports of movement along the Neutral Zone. He knew Deanna had already met them, taken them to one of the suites on deck seven, was still with them -- he knew she was happy and calm. As he left the ready room, left the bridge, and went to find them, he realized something was changing. Deanna had started to feel absolutely blissful.

When he was admitted he was first confronted by the shrieking of Rebby and Reno -- they were blurs of pink and green, flinging themselves at him, and he tried to greet them without being knocked down. Greg came to his rescue.

"Come on, girls, remember this is your old uncle -- he's frail and unable to withstand your excitement," Greg said. Which had the immediate effect of the girls backing off, but Jean-Luc scowled at his friend.

"Don't listen to him, he's fibbing," Jean-Luc said. He smiled down at Rebby and her little sister. "You must be at least two feet taller than the last time I saw you. What are they feeding you?"

Reno giggled and planted her hands on her face. "You're funny," Rebby announced with a bob of her head. Her long black ponytail bounced.

"Want to see my dolls?" Reno shouted as she bounced in place.

"Reno, come here," Senna called. That sent both girls darting over to their mother, climbing on the couch. It gave Jean-Luc the reprieve he needed to really notice Deanna seated on the other end of the couch from Senna, holding the baby. Greg greeted him, but he hardly heard it. Deanna raised her eyes to his and with her direct attention on him came the full force of her joy -- she was enraptured by the baby she held. And he didn't even have a moment to be unsettled by that.

"Come meet Russell," Senna said, with warmth in her voice that suggested she understood what was happening. "Rebby, let's have some tea. Reno can help you get it from the replicator."

Greg even gave him a nudge forward, so Jean-Luc did go to Deanna and sit close, and look at the baby. Russell was a frightening little troll. His dark hair stuck straight up, his chubby arms were mottled pink, his eyes screwed shut and his face wrinkled.

"Would you like to hold him?" Deanna asked. Before he could answer, she passed the baby, bundled in the yellow and green blanket, to him and he took it robotically. Russell was unimpressed. He yawned, made a little noise, wiggled his arms slightly.

"Looks like me, doesn't he?" Greg asked. He stood over Jean-Luc and grinned down at the baby.

"Babies never look like their parents, we just like to pretend they do," Deanna said with a fond smile. "You have fewer wrinkles, Greg."

Rebby came to put cups of tea on the table, and Reno ran across to climb up next to Jean-Luc. She wore a green outfit, shorts and shirt, with a happy cartoon dog on the front. Scooting up to him until she could lean over his arm, she smiled at her little brother, then raised her dark eyes to look up at Jean-Luc.

"Yes?" he asked, trying to sound amused.

"Mom says you aren't used to kids," she announced seriously. "And we're supposed to help you with that."

Senna, when he scowled her way, shrugged. "She could interpret what I said that way, yes. I knew you wouldn't be comfortable if they just ran over and tackled you so I tried to keep that from happening."

"I suppose I have to appreciate that," he replied while watching out of the corner of his eye as Reno actually snuggled in closer and rested her head against his chest while tickling Russell's cheek.

Jean-Luc felt somewhat odd, as he sat watching the baby be as boring as hell, with the occasional wriggle or snuffle. Reno asked him about his bridge, if it was anything like Daddy's bridge, and can she see it, and would he take her there. Rebby seconded the idea, and Greg started to intercede -- but Deanna stepped in.

"Why don't I take the baby back, and you can go show them?" 

It led to departing with Greg, walking with Rebby between them and Reno in Greg's arms riding on his hip, and Jean-Luc went along to the lift and up to the bridge without complaint enduring Rebby's bickering with her sister about whose ship was bigger. 

"You can ask people polite questions if you walk," Greg said sternly when the kids charged through the opening door. They immediately slowed down to a walk, then started to skip, caught themselves and walked again down the ramp -- Reno squealed at the sight of Worf staring from tactical, forgot herself, and ran down and away from the Klingon.

Will stood up and swooped an arm in to catch her up. "Now, how did -- hello Captain Norman," he exclaimed. "Captain. I wasn't expecting you."

"Yes, well, an impromptu tour," Jean-Luc managed. "This is Reno and Rebby."

Will smiled at the girl he effortlessly held, and at Rebby standing at the helm talking to the ensign there with her best fetching little smile. "I guess you know what a bridge is?"

Reno chortled and pointed. "That's the helm, and that's the ops console. And that's where the captain sits. You must be the first officer."

"I'm impressed," Will exclaimed with some genuine surprise. "Want to tell me what this station is for?" He carried her over to one of the unmanned auxiliary stations to show her.

Greg nudged Jean-Luc's arm as they slowly went down the bridge and kept an eye on the girls as they halted. "You all right, soldier?"

"Of course."

Greg had a sympathetic expression. "Johnny, seriously, you were in shock back there. What's going on with you?"

Jean-Luc shook his head, watching Will walk Reno through how to run a sensor sweep with Rebby looking on. "I'm not sure."

"Having second thoughts about getting married?"

He finally focused on Greg's face, shook himself out of the reverie he'd been in. "No. But it feels... unreal. Suddenly."

Greg raised his head, at that. "It's the baby, isn't it? She's holding the baby and it shocked you. Made you think about a baby of your own."

Jean-Luc shrugged. It was as likely as anything, and he wasn't sure. Internally, he noted that Deanna was concerned, but still exuding the joy of being with Senna and the baby. It occurred to him that it might be second-hand, something she was taking on from Senna.

Greg grabbed his shoulder. "Hey, come on. You're drifting. Is there anything I can do to help? You're making me worried, here."

"I'll shake it off. I'm sorry."

Greg gave him a look that said he knew better than to let it drop. But he didn't push. He started across the bridge. "Hey, Rebby, why don't you ask him about the warp engines? I bet you know more about them."

It led to chatting with Will, in between answering the questions the girls kept asking, and then Rebby came up with the bright idea of playing a game. It was obvious the girls didn't have much of an attention span. Jean-Luc managed to offer up a visit to his quarters to get a deck of cards, and ignored the amused look from Will as the group left the bridge.

\----------------

 

Deanna kissed the baby on the forehead and passed him back to his mother. "I should go."

"I hope it isn't anything serious," Senna said. She'd been aware of Jean-Luc's internal struggle as well.

"He does this when he's contemplating serious matters. I think he has a lot on his mind, one of his admiral friends is insisting that marrying me is detrimental to his career."

Senna cocked her head at that. "Greg did say he thought it might become an issue, but that he knows Jean-Luc well enough to think he can manage it."

Finally, the baby started to whimper. Russell had been the quietest baby she'd ever met, but he was getting hungry. Senna smiled at her son, and started to open the front of her dress.

"I'll talk to Jean-Luc and see if he's all right. We'll contact you about dinner."

Deanna left her cousin to nurse the baby and headed toward the lift. "Computer, where is Captain Picard?"

"Captain Picard is in his quarters."

When she arrived, Greg had Jean-Luc sitting at the table with the girls, playing some card game. He looked up from the cards, as did Greg. Rebby and Reno smiled at her, looking very much like their mother.

"Want to play cards?" Reno asked brightly.

"I need to talk to Jean-Luc," she said, looking at Greg.

"So we should go back to the suite and check on Mom and Russell," Greg said, dropping his hand on the table. "And let your aunt talk to your uncle."

"She's not our aunt until the wedding," Reno said firmly.

"Stickler for accuracy, this one will be an accountant," Greg said with a grin. "Come on, let's go. Race you to the lift."

When they were gone, Jean-Luc stood and came to her, where she stood in the middle of the room. He took her hands but didn't appear to know what to say.

"Jean-Luc?"

He ran his thumbs across her palms, looked her in the eye, and they stood together that way for a few minutes. "I know," he said at last. "I love you."

She nodded, leaning in to pass her lips across his and bring her cheek across, brushing his face lightly. "How do I help you?"

When he raised his arms she came forward a step to embrace him without hesitation. Having him in her arms felt right. Warm, comforting, and she was happy -- her joy enveloped him and propped him up. Grounded him.

"Why have you been so anxious?"

"I'm not -- "

She waited, and eventually pulled away to look him in the eye again. "You want to talk about this?"

"I don't know if I can."

"I want you to be happy. If you're having second thoughts -- "

"No," he blurted. "Not at all."

"Do you want me to leave you alone?"

"The baby makes you happy."

Deanna smiled sadly at that. "Are we back around to debating children? The baby makes Senna and Greg happy. Blissfully happy, and it's obvious to me that you've picked up on that and it's made you nervous. What I told you before is still true, Jean-Luc. I'm not going to ask for children until we're both ready to have them."

"I don't know if I'll ever be ready," he said, surprising himself. He stood there gaping at having said it. Nausea and fear struck him. She suspected that he feared she would leave, if he decided he didn't want children.

"Please come sit with me."

When they were in their usual place on the couch she leaned against him, kissing his cheek before putting her cheek to his shoulder. Sitting with her this way was familiar and reassuring. She could sense him settling into calm and contentment

"We're going to be married in two days, in front of all our friends, and I am very happy about that. I hope you can be as well?" she murmured after a while.

His answering joy was reassuring. "What do you think about Greece?"

"I think I would enjoy the beaches. Do you have a specific location in mind?"

"I found a villa with a private beach."

Deanna smiled at the possibilities. "I'll pack as little as possible. Plenty of sunscreen. You can apply it for me."

The thought floated between them in a current of happiness. He moved slightly, put his arms around her and pulled her closer. "I need to ask Greg if the girls want to be in the wedding."

"You need to ask the girls yourself. Why do you think you can't?" She waited until he passed through the moment of frustrated amusement at his own expense. "Listen to me. You are what you are. I love you for that. Please spend time with me now and let the future come as it will."

He chuckled at that. "Don't you have some arrangement to spend time with Tasha this afternoon?"

"I do, but I want to have lunch first. You're hungry too. Let's do that now. Have something to eat, and you can tell me how the wedding will go. If there's been any changes?"

 


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yes, this is the wedding. And some post-wedding processing. 
> 
> Really I haven't spent a lot of time on weddings in the other iterations of this pairing, but I put a lot of thought in this one. I hope it suits.
> 
> I did indeed borrow the vows from somewhere, editing them slightly. The poem is the one he read to her much earlier in the story.
> 
> There will be three stories in the series so there will be two other points of view of the event -- but I haven't gotten done with this one yet. To be continued....

The sense of being in a dream persisted, throughout the hour or two at the house -- Jean-Luc let his sister-in-law and brother nudge him through whatever he needed to be doing. Part of it was the time change, still difficult to deal with, and part of it was Marie would have been a good captain, he thought in a detached way as she gave orders and put his friends into action. She had Will and Randi putting the finishing touches on the food for the reception, while Wes took pictures and videos and Beverly and Tasha were upstairs helping Deanna finish getting ready.

He stood in the doorway of the large room he remembered his mother throwing parties in years ago. He'd thought those such boring parties, people standing around talking or sitting around playing cards, laughing occasionally. Somehow Marie had moved out all the furniture and brought in enough chairs in there for everyone, and a runner down the hardwood floor between them. The formal dining room no longer looked like a dining room.

The man from the church, Dufresne, was arriving -- he could hear Robert's loud greeting echoing from the front of the house.

"Having second thoughts?"

He turned his head from a contemplation of the tall vase of flowers at the front of the room -- apparently the ceremony would take place in front of the large collection of red, white and pink roses in a very tall urn -- and looked slightly up at Randi's face. "Not at all. In shock, more than anything else -- Marie went through a lot more work than I expected of her."

Randi grinned at that. She'd worn a bright blue dress, having obviously gotten on the same bandwagon as the other women from the Enterprise. "I'm in awe of everything -- this is a beautiful house. Thank you for inviting me."

"Are you all right?" It came out without hesitation, and he realized just how not himself he'd felt; they were that removed from uniforms and the ship, he supposed. The captain wouldn't have said that.

The sad smile suggested otherwise. "I am, thanks. Not that everything's great. But I think it will be okay."

Jean-Luc sighed, smoothed the long lapels of his black jacket, glanced down at his suit -- everything was as neat and orderly as it had been five minutes ago the last time he'd checked. "I'm hoping for the best outcome for both of you."

"You have a way of saying things," she said with a chuckle. "Thank you. Such a gentleman."

"That would be my mother's doing," he said, looking around the room again. "I was just remembering the last time I saw her decorating this room, for a party. One of Robert's birthdays, I think."

"Here he is," Robert cried out as footsteps echoed up the hall. He was turning the corner with Dufresne in tow.

"Hello again, Captain," the man exclaimed.

Rather than stand in the hall Jean-Luc went into the room, and everyone followed; Randi sat in the front row of the four rows of chairs, and Robert started to explain again. "We're keeping it all very simple, no rehearsal necessary. I understand the vows were already provided to you?"

"Yes," Jean-Luc said, smirking at his brother's forthrightness on his behalf.

"In half an hour -- I assume we're also having the reception here?" Dufresne asked.

"In the solarium, yes, on the back of the house where we host the tastings for larger groups who come to the winery. There's enough room for dancing there." Robert slapped Jean-Luc's shoulder. "You have a lovely bride, my brother."

Children's voices brought all three men around to watch Senna and her three children enter the room.

"Do you like my dress?" Reno shouted, racing forward to pirouette and beam up at the three of them. She wore a beautiful lace-edged pink dress that matched the one her sibling wore, only Rebby's was in blue. He smiled at the little girl, and that apparently sufficed, as she beamed back at him and ran back to her mother. Senna had piled her hair on her head and wore a long jade green gown -- she'd always been stunning, and formal dress only trebled that effect. She sat down with the baby in her arms and instructed the girls to sit with her.

Greg arrived shortly after with Will, and Rene was with them. All three wore suits almost exactly like Jean-Luc's. Rene ran over and threw his arms around Jean-Luc, clearly excited to the point of exuberance. He immediately bounced over to do the same to his father. Data and Geordi came in as well to displace Will in greeting Jean-Luc with a handshake. Before long, nearly everyone was present and seated.

"I think we're almost ready," Robert said, guiding Rene over to the remaining three seats in the front on the right. Will had joined Randi and Data and Geordi sat with them on the left. And no sooner had he said that than Marie pattered in excitedly and hurried to sit with her husband and son. She wore a lovely shade of pale blue, that complemented her fair complexion and blue eyes. She beamed up at Jean-Luc.

And the final two guests, who had been seeing to the hair and makeup of the bride, arrived and glided to empty seats in the second row behind Marie and Robert, looking very happy and proud. Beverly and Tasha wore dresses of the same teal silk, but Tasha's had been styled slightly different, with a scooped neckline where Beverly's was more modest. They were also beaming at Jean-Luc in a manner he almost found unsettling.

It had been, he reflected, the most peculiar couple of days leading up to this. Deanna had stopped sharing her emotions with him the prior afternoon, citing her desire to not flood him with her own anxiety that she hadn't been feeling until influenced by the other women. They were, she told him, caught up in arrangements suddenly. Deanna herself had assumed that things were all being managed and so continued to be calm, until Marie had quizzed Jean-Luc and discovered he hadn't thought of things that "must be handled" -- his sister-in-law had been issued a communicator by Will to facilitate all the last minute questions. How incredibly strange that the women around him had been spurred into action this way, when it was supposed to be just a simple ceremony -- it never would have occurred to him to worry about whether there should be someone to manage the music during the reception. 

Then again, he was accustomed to something better than the ancient system that handled the lights and temperature in the Picard family home. Fortunate that Marie had taken charge for the most part, he decided, because apparently the closer they came to the day, the more anxious he had been and so had not really done as he would have for missions, researching and drilling down to small details.

There was no music and no parent to walk her in, so the best indicator that Deanna approached was Wesley arriving with the holo-camera he was using to document everything, sidling into the room and hurrying up to the front to stand in the corner and aim the lens at the door. That led to everyone popping up from their seats anxiously to peer back at the door, leaning to and fro to see around the other guests. Jean-Luc glanced at Dufresne, standing there at the front with him, and watched -- he realized he was holding his breath and tried to breathe slowly and quietly. And then she stepped into view, pausing to take stock. 

It really didn't matter that he had seen the dress before, she looked different -- it had been tailored to fit her and her hair was done up in combs, tiny white flowers tucked in around them, with ringlets and curls cascading down to her shoulders. Her makeup was different as well, pale pink eyeshadow instead of her usual jewel tones. She stood there for a moment looking down the aisle at him with wide eyes, and he found he'd gone tense and had to remind himself to breathe again. 

Wesley darted over and hit his knees behind Jean-Luc and got some shots of Deanna coming toward them slowly, holding the small bundle of wildflowers that Rebby and Reno had been sent out to get earlier before putting on their dresses. She arrived at Jean-Luc's side as he once again had to start breathing again. For a few heartbeats they stared at each other as if seeing each other for the first time, and he began to suspect that she was almost as anxious as he.

Dufresne startled him by clearing his throat. "Thank you all for coming here today to celebrate Jean-Luc and Deanna's wedding, and welcome."

Everyone sat down, or he supposed they must have from the creaks of chairs and sigh of fabric, and a muttering from Data was quickly shushed by Geordi's whisper that he could 'ask about it later'. Small hands clapped briefly and Senna's hushing stopped it. Jean-Luc kept his attention on Deanna, now glancing at Dufresne and back, expectant and serious.

"Jean-Luc, will you have Deanna to be your wife; to live together in the covenant of marriage? Will you love her, comfort her, honor her, keep her, in sickness and in health, and be faithful to her? Will you do this?"

"I will." It was simple, to the point, exactly as he and Deanna had elected -- yet for some reason the words were hard to say. The impulse was to clam up, there was an audience and he didn't feel as he had expected to feel, the tension in the room felt thick. Or was that simply his own anxiety? He didn't want to look around to check. Had to focus on the woman in front of him. Deanna looked back at him steadily with no obvious distress, simply kept her dark eyes trained on his face.

Dufresne went on, with the vows that were based in an old Zen Buddhist ceremony, thus requiring them to be repeated three times. "Will you do this?"

"I will," he replied, feeling the words come easier this time. He looked at Dufresne for the first time, and the man's reserved smile helped. His eyes returned to Deanna's face. 

"Will you really do this?"

"I will."

A soft voice asked, "Why do they keep repeating it?" Greg shushed Rebby and the room fell silent again.

Dufresne' smile turned amused for a second, but he stuck to the script. "Deanna, do you take Jean-Luc to be your husband; to live together in the covenant of marriage? Will you love him, comfort him, honor him, keep him, in sickness and in health, and be faithful to him? Will you do this?"

"I will," she said firmly, her smile in her voice as she raised her head slightly. There she was again, that proud lady who had played hostess, while the Mannheims had been aboard. The one that had reminded him so much of his own mother.

"Will you do this?"

"I will."

"Will you really do this?"

"I will." Her eyes fixed on Jean-Luc's with an intensity that suggested the repetition had done the same for her, grounded her and replaced the anxiety with certainty.

Dufresne raised his hands, holding them out as if appealing to all gathered there. "Will all of you witnessing these promises do all in your power to uphold these two persons in their marriage? Will you do this? If so, answer 'we will.'"

Almost in unison, the chorus of voices of their collected friends exclaimed, "We will."

"Will you do this?"

"We will." Rebby's reedy high-pitched shout joined in, this time.

"Will you really do this?" Dufresne was almost grinning by this time, and joined in.

"We will!" Rene's contralto pealed out along with Rebby's, over the voices of everyone, and Worf, who had to have quietly joined them sometime during the vows, was also distinctly audible. Perhaps that had been what amused Dufresne, a Klingon sneaking in the back.

"You may now make what promises you will to each other.

For a moment, silence drew out -- except for a scuffle somewhere behind them. Jean-Luc realized it had to be Wes -- he heard the quiet whine of the camera and it threw him back into rigidity. Deanna grabbed his hands, stepping closer, in an unplanned gesture -- it pulled his focus forward again. He was supposed to speak first, but she saved him from his frozen state.

"Jean-Luc, I vow to be your companion through good, bad, and indifferent times; to work toward and to allow space for growth in ourselves and in our relationship; and to endeavor to always act out of love."

Beverly snorted softly, but audibly -- there would be teasing, later, no doubt all about how unromantic the wording sounded. It sounded like a therapist wrote it, because of course, one had. Feeling defensive on her behalf, he repeated the words almost defiantly.

"Deanna, I vow to be your companion through good, bad, and indifferent times; to work toward and to allow space for growth in ourselves and in our relationship; and to endeavor to always act out of love."

A pause, and Dufresne moved on with the same serious tone. "Our bride and groom have chosen a friend to give a reading of a poem. Data?"

The android in his fitted black suit rose and stood ramrod straight, of course reading nothing -- he'd read it through before beaming down, no doubt, and committed it to memory as everything he ever heard was. He spoke the words in his even, measured baritone with the calm that had been the deciding factor in having him perform this during the ceremony. He wouldn't react to it emotionally in any way.

  
_Don't go anywhere without me._  
_Let nothing happen in the sky apart from me,_  
or on the ground, in this world or that world,  
without my being in its happening.  
Vision, see nothing I don't see.  
Language, say nothing.  
The way the night knows itself with the moon,  
be that with me. Be the rose  
nearest to the thorn that I am.

 _I want to feel myself in you when you taste food,_  
_in the arc of your mallet when you work,_  
when you visit friends, when you go  
up on the roof by yourself at night.

 _There's nothing worse than to walk out along the street_  
_without you. I don't know where I'm going._  
You're the road, and the knower of roads,  
more than maps, more than love.

Somehow the dispassionate recital gave the words more weight. Jean-Luc saw from the corner of his eye that Data sat down again, just the movement, and gazed into Deanna's eyes. She looked like she might be on the verge of tears. Her lips quivered into a smile.

Dufresne broke the silence. "I now declare you married in the eyes of the law, and all beings."

This was the end of the ceremony -- there was supposed to be a kiss. But Jean-Luc felt as though his shoes had been nailed to the floor. Then Deanna swayed a little toward him, and it seemed to free him from the self imposed stasis -- he leaned forward and their mouths met, and he forgot that they were being watched. It was a real kiss, open-mouthed, but before it could become more intense a cheer arose, and they were surrounded by cheering, laughing friends, broken apart in the tide of joy and turning to be hugged, cheeks kissed. Mugged and mauled, Jean-Luc thought, enduring it with a smile because that was what he had to do, and it was a relief to have made it through without a panic attack.

They were propelled from the room and down the hall by their friends, and Deanna clung to his arm even while Tasha tried to drag her along, and Robert was pushing Jean-Luc with his hands on his shoulders as if he needed the impetus to go along. 

"Party time," Robert called out. The children were cheering about that. Somehow the group managed to be jogging through the house, to the main hall and back to the large greenhouse that his grandmother had demanded -- it had been used for parties of larger proportions after its time as a greenhouse was over, then altered for wine tastings, still decorated with hanging plants but with tables and chairs and a bar, and as they pushed through the double doors into the sun-warmed room the strains of music greeted them. Marie had hired a guitarist. He was set up in a corner at one end of the bar, and playing something that sounded vaguely Spanish.

Robert loped to the bar, vaulted over it in a surprising feat of agility, and started plunking bottles of champagne on it, next to a neatly-arranged block of champagne glasses. On a table by itself near the other end of the bar was the croquemboque -- the pile of cream puffs that typically appeared at French weddings. 

Deanna gripped his arm more tightly. "Can we step out for a moment?" she murmured.

"Yes," he said at once, turning, pushing past Will and Beverly and Tasha, past Data, past concerned looks from Greg and Geordi and a knowing look from Senna as she ushered her girls forward telling them to go get their glass of cider. Marie almost followed them but stood in the door watching them retreat down the hall. "We'll be back in a moment," he said to her, and she turned back into the solarium at that.

Deanna lurched to a halt in the foyer, on the black and white tile, and the distant noise of conversation behind them went quiet, with Marie's closing the door. She took a step and pushed her arms around his neck.

"I'm sorry," she said against she shoulder.

"What?"

She laughed, at the jagged, high-pitched panic in his voice. "I mean that I'm sorry that I did not believe you when you told me that getting married makes such a difference. But it meant so much to you -- I haven't been to many weddings and I didn't sense this from other human weddings, it was intense and real. They all felt it so strongly. It was stupefying -- I just needed a few minutes to resettle, before we go on. I don't think I would be able to eat anything if I can't calm down."

He held her tightly and closed his eyes. While he hadn't felt right in her absence, he appreciated the wisdom of her not wanting to continue sharing all that she felt. Taking deep breaths, he tried to do as she intended and calm down with her.

"What do you mean, intense and real?" he asked at last.

Deanna stepped back from him and dabbed with her thumb at the corners of her eyes. "It was almost as though everyone was completely connected, in the happiness they were feeling -- and the tension. They were absolutely riveted throughout the vows. And the poem nearly overwhelmed.... It was all I could do not to cry with them. They weren't expecting it."

Jean-Luc felt tired then, as he would have expected. Happy, but with the calm and the absence of anxiety came the weariness that usually followed periods of high emotion. "I don't know if I'm going to get through the reception."

"Of course you will. Would you like me to reconnect?" She took his hand in hers.

"If you aren't going to double how tired I am?"

"I don't think so. Everyone's so happy now, though they'll be a little concerned until we get back in there and resume the celebration." She gave him her happy grin, and suddenly she was back -- happy, yes. But beyond that there was more, contentment, joy, a feeling of being at home and completely at ease. It did away with the ongoing feeling of dislocation and unreality.

"We should go have some champagne."

"Yes. I'm looking forward to dancing with my husband."

He grinned at her in return. "Good. I think he's finally in the mood to dance."

When they reached the door and swung it open again, more cheering, and this time when Reno started to clap everyone went along with it, and Beverly brought over flutes of champagne for them. And the toasts began -- Jean-Luc sighed, endured, clung to his wife's hand as each friend in turn told stories and listed good things about them, and wished them well. When he started to feel a little too exposed, Deanna leaned and whispered, "Six hours." Which was the time left before their departure for Greece, to coordinates he had left with Chief O'Brien in strictest confidence. 

The alcohol, and the continued reassurance that everyone was mostly happy for them, amused with them and not at them, helped him get through to the eating, and the dancing, and the socializing. At the appointed time everyone followed them out into the front yard, in the dusk, where Will contacted the ship and gave the order. The last thing Jean-Luc saw as the transporter took them away was Wes and his camera, aiming straight at them, and he realized he hadn't paid any attention all afternoon -- had the boy gotten pictures of him kissing Deanna on the dance floor, or of the crazy turn around the room with Rebby screeching and dragging him in lopsided arcs trying to get him to dance with her, or was there a video of Greg telling the story about the bar on Risa?

Then they were standing on sand, in front of a bungalow on a beach, and a brilliant orange, purple and red sunset in progress in front of them -- Deanna was looking askance at him, standing there in her wedding dress. 

"Mrs. Picard," he exclaimed, choosing to jump into the present with both feet. He lunged, swept her up in his arms, and slogged up the sand, up the steps, through the open door and past the bags that had been delivered for them, tossing her on the bed. 

She started to laugh at him. Not ordinarily something that he approved of -- but he could tell it was joy, his and hers, and so he joined her loudly and yanked off the suit jacket with complete disregard for the closures. The shirt came off over his head rather than taking it off one button at a time. He shoved pants off all in one movement, stepping out of the shoes. 

"Oh," Deanna began, then he was on her and prying at the seams of the dress looking for an easy way in. She guided his hands to the shoulders and he peeled at the sleeves while she wiggled up and out of the gown. Some of the material tore a little but clearly she wasn't being sentimental about the dress. 

He worked on the fastener of her bra between her breasts while he kissed her. The connection between them intensified, and it was as all-consuming as before. She didn't always merge with such intensity but he supposed the occasion warranted. He let himself be drawn under the waves of passion.

It didn't lead to a blackout as it had a couple of times, but he was adrift for a while before settling back into his body and feeling separate again. The room was dark, and the air cooler than it had been. They were sprawled together on the bed. Without a word, he sat up and shoved down the covers. There was an onshore breeze coming right into the open door of the bungalow. Deanna wriggled up and tucked her feet under the sheet, and let him pull up sheet and blanket over him before settling against him again.

"Do you feel different, now that you're married? Do I?" she murmured.

"You're just as lovely and cold as a reptile, my dear."

She laughed at him again and pushed closer, using him for warmth. "Just wait until I'm warm."

It wasn't long until she slid closer, putting her leg over and settling on top to kiss him, running her hands around his chest. That was enough to wake him up again, run his hands up her thighs, her hips, and enjoy her sliding down over him. They were both tired so it wasn't surprising that it wasn't a romping, passionate encounter, but he wasn't in a rush. They did have five days to eat, sleep and make love, after all.


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back from a week in the mountains. 
> 
> Now we're getting them ready to leave and go finish the story.

It was strange, coming back aboard. Deanna hadn't expected that somehow though she told herself she probably should have, after the way everyone reacted at the wedding. She walked with her husband from the transporter room just as she had done so many times before. People in the corridors smiled at them, greeted them with a nod or said hi, but their attitudes had shifted slightly. She didn't remark on the ones from whom she sensed disapproval. There were more who had genuine affection for them. Either way, those feelings didn't matter. She carried her bag dangling from her right shoulder and walked through the ship toward home.

"I should get to the bridge. Check in, make sure I don't have admirals expecting attention, check on the progress of everyone coming back from leave and set a departure time." He preceded her into the captain's quarters and let his bag slide to the floor. "Computer, Earl Grey."

"After you have some tea," she commented, putting her bag on the floor next to his. She wore a simple dress, white with a knee-length skirt, and intended to change into one of her usual colorful dresses with tights and put her hair up. Back to business.

Jean-Luc stopped in the center of the room, not yet turning to fetch his tea from the replicator though the mug had materialized and steam swirled up from it. He, like her, wore casual clothing, plain brown slacks and a white long-sleeved shirt, which hid the fact that he was just as tanned as she from their time on the beach. Their stay in Greece had been idyllic. They had talked about the future very little, which had surprised her; he had focused on the present almost exclusively.

And now, back on the ship, in his quarters, he stood in a state of mixed emotions and thought very seriously about something that held him there, making him forget his tea. Apparently staring at the bare wall over the couch. She waited for him to finish whatever debate was raging in his mind.

He raised his hand and pointed at the wall. "I think that one shot of us in front of the arbor should go here," he said, as if the welfare of the universe depended on it.

Deanna grinned and went over to put her arms around his waist from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder. They'd brought copies of all the photos from the wedding on a padd to Greece with them, to sift through and enjoy. He'd spent fleeting moments throughout the reception feeling that same old anxiety but diving back into the moment as if his life depended on it. She wondered if this was the way he was going to be now.

"You enjoyed our wedding, I hope," he said, proving what she was suspecting, that he was becoming more attuned to not only her feelings but to her thoughts.

"I did. So did everyone including you, though some things were startling to you."

He said nothing, and put his hand over hers, on his abdomen.

"Jean-Luc?"

"How did I become such a horrible person?" he asked, bemused.

Deanna moved away, walked around him to look at his face. "What are you saying?"

"Everyone at the reception enjoyed themselves. I've never seen some of them so happy and so -- relaxed about things, telling jokes. Geordi isn't what I thought he was. There have been glimmers, here and there he'll tell a joke, or smile at something. But you heard him talking to Will at the reception, both of them sounded like different people than I knew. They've never been that way around me before."

She gaped at that. Surely he knew better than this? And he proceeded to prove again that they were more attuned than before.

"You're right, I do know -- we're all professionals on duty, that's by design and I wouldn't change it. But I didn't really fully understand how far separated I'd become over the years. How did I get to this? People stop talking when I sit down at the table." He planted his hands on his hips and paced a little. "Greg had absolutely no issues associating with anyone at the reception. He has no issues associating with his own crew -- he talks about his first officer and his engineer, going on leave with them or spending off time in the holodeck. How did I become such a narrow, isolated old asshole?"

"I don't know how to respond to that. I suppose because I don't think of you that way."

He spun and gestured at her -- it was something he only did when he was really worked up about something. "You told me early on that I was isolated."

"When did I do that?" She turned, and he followed her as she'd expected, into the bedroom. Kicking her sandals one by one into the closet, she selected the bright teal dress and went to lay it on the bed.

He followed her lead, pulling his shirt off over his head. "I was talking to you about morale, or maybe it was the concern I had about the senior staff -- we talked about the cultural differences at play. You said something about captains having their own unique cultures aboard their vessels. You pointed out that I spent less time associating with crew than some, that the times I interact with the lower ranks, it's usually during some structured activity. Fencing with Lieutenant Billings, or painting class. Something that directs the conversation or the activity in predictable ways."

"Did I imply that was a bad thing somehow?" She remembered his anxiety about it well enough.

"Not exactly. But I remember feeling as though you were suggesting I might do otherwise."

Deanna shrugged, not entirely comfortable with this line of discussion. It started to feel like counseling. She crossed her arms across her ribs beneath her bra, looking down at the red lacquer on her toenails. "I remember thinking that something might have happened that led to a conscious decision to be that way, with crew. Sometimes that can happen. Commanding officers sometimes want a more formal staff attitude. I supposed that it might also have been a result of advice you'd had -- they do go on and on at the Academy about command and all the ethics and expectations, and maintaining a particular demeanor on duty."

He absentmindedly took off his pants, still thinking hard, tossing them on the floor with the shirt and moving to get a uniform from the other end of the closet. "When I was younger and cocky as hell, I threw myself into duty singlemindedly when I was on shift, and almost as singlemindedly into pursuit of pleasure, or excitement, when I was off duty. It was obvious after my second promotion that some of it had to stop. I couldn't just drink and chase women, and expect to have any respect from the ensigns, or so I was told. And I always strove to be correct and justified in anything duty related -- and then it became apparent that sometimes we are in situations where right and wrong is less clear, sometimes one has to weigh things out or simply be effective, or back away and do nothing -- not what they push you to do. Being decisive is a quality cadets are taught to admire. I had to change in a lot of ways."

Deanna pulled on her dress and backed toward him, and he obligingly fastened the back for her. She went to the dressing table for her brush. "At some point you decided you would be the kind of captain who encouraged officers to think for themselves. Work as a team."

"There came a mission, an occasion when I knew I was right, and the egoistical captain couldn't hear that he was making a mistake and it cost someone his life -- I told myself that if I ever got that fourth pip, I would at the very least hear the officer out and consider what he was saying. Because clinging to the privilege of being right simply because I'm in command isn't worth someone's life."

She turned to the mirror and put up her hair, winding it around and around into a bun. "It sounds like you have a lot of sound reasons for what you do."

He huffed, turning as he put the pips on his collar and leaning in to pick his boots off the floor of the closet. "But I don't know why -- this one thing, why I can't feel comfortable being with people -- why they can't be comfortable with me. I think it's me. I'm stiff. Anxious. I think it's been there all along and I've dealt with it differently during the different phases of my career."

It was the kind of conversation she'd had with him only a few times before. Commentary on himself, his behavior, and how he felt frustrated by it. She started on her makeup, uncertain of how to respond.

"Will doesn't understand," he said, then fell into a conflicted internal state that confused her.

"I don't doubt it," she murmured. She didn't have to know exactly what he meant, to know that.

"I don't have enough understanding of it myself. I want to. I think I need to."

Deanna put on lipstick and peered at herself in the mirror. "It almost sounds like you need counseling."

A heavy sigh from him in response. She turned, rising from the stool, and went to get the shoes that went with the teal dress. He watched her sit on the bed and retrieve the tights from the drawer in her nightstand, and begin to roll them on her right foot. He liked to watch that process, so she went slowly and held out her leg.

As she worked on the left leg, he recovered from the brief interruption. "I intend to talk to Alia. But I'm not sure what to talk about. I don't know what this really is. Why can't I just enjoy myself with other people?"

Deanna put her feet in the high heeled shoes and smoothed out her skirt over her thighs. "Social anxiety isn't unheard of, you know. It's fairly common."

He was so frustrated by that -- he crossed his arms tightly and looked very much the disapproving captain.

"Jean-Luc," she said, pleading.

"I should have a better perspective on this by now," he muttered, scowling at the floor.

"I used to have a seventy year old client who said the same thing. If this were simple you would have solved it long ago, you know, you're much more intelligent than that. But emotions take a different sort of effort to work through. You can't solve this with logic."

He gazed at her with another turn of mood, as something occurred to him. "You can help me with this."

"I can try. I'm not your counselor."

"I know. But I can talk to you about it without feeling so embarrassed."

That was in itself an amazing confession. Deanna rose and went to him and lightly touched his chest, as if the uniform kept her at bay. "You know I'll do whatever I can, Jean-Luc. I'm going to my office, check in with my assistant, send a message to my mother telling her we're leaving orbit tomorrow and I wish her well. I'll probably only be a couple of hours, and then I'll come back and wait here for my husband."

His smile was the kind she liked, appreciative and sly. "You have some specific little surprise left over for me?"

"Maybe," she said with a wink. She'd replicated a few of the lingerie to take with her and each had been received quite well. "I have a few ideas."

He took her hand and ran his thumb over the ring she wore. They hadn't exchanged rings as part of the wedding ceremony, because he had been reluctant to wear one. Raising her hand, he kissed her knuckles lightly. "I like your ideas."

"So put on your boots, go to the bridge, and try to guess what I have planned. I'll see you in a few hours." She gripped his fingers as she leaned in and brushed her lips across his.

He stood there watching her go. It was difficult to leave, given how he was feeling -- there was definitely something going on that he was working through in his usual way, sorting out his feelings and coming to terms with them.

In the corridor she ran into Tasha. Her friend was so incredibly happy, radiating puckish joy, that Deanna knew she'd been stalked and successfully 'captured.' Tasha bobbed along with her toward the lift, a bounce in her step. "So, how was it," she asked with a lilt in her voice.

"It was everything it should have been," Deanna replied with a smile. "It was wonderful. Did you and Beverly enjoy your time off?"

"Oh... yes." Tasha blushed and shrugged happily.

Deanna's smile reflected what she was sensing from the young woman, a joyful contentment that rivaled what she herself had experienced throughout the honeymoon. "I'm glad -- you both deserve it."

They went into the lift and there was Beverly. "Well, hello," the doctor exclaimed, and once again Deanna suspected she'd been stalked. "How was the honeymoon?"

"Predictably wonderful, thank you."

"Did you do anything extraordinarily special?" Beverly asked.

"She has a tan," Tasha exclaimed gleefully. "Are there any tan lines, or is this a whole body tan?"

Deanna smiled at that, said nothing. It was amusing that the faint tan was even noticeable to Tasha. She had fair skin that rarely showed any tan at all.

"I bet his matches hers," Beverly said slyly.

Deanna kept smiling, and knew that Jean-Luc was approaching -- they hadn't given the computer a destination, so the car hadn't moved.

"Sex on the beach?" Beverly asked, bumping Tasha with her elbow. They shared a look that said plenty about how well their own days off had gone.

The door opened, and the atmosphere in the lift dissolved in a heartbeat -- Tasha straightened at once and lost the glee. Beverly merely shifted down into a muted version of her own happiness. The captain looked askance at the three of them, stepped in, faced front, and said, "Bridge."

Deanna waited the few silent minutes until the lift slowed. "How was your vacation, Captain?"

He froze -- in surprise, at her pretence of not having been there with him, perhaps. He twisted slightly to study her as if trying to understand what she was up to, and then smiled -- it was his sly look. Then he was out the open door and it closed behind him.

"Deck two," Deanna said, and the lift started again.

"Oh," Tasha commented softly.

"Can we come talk for a minute?" Beverly asked, not gleeful, still sly, but only just.

"I'm going to check messages -- I don't have appointments starting up yet since so many people are just coming back from leave," Deanna said. "So if you want, come in."

They followed her into her office and sat on the couch, while she went to the desk and flicked through two screens of messages that had been left in her absence -- a lot of congratulatory ones from crew and one from her mother asking her questions about the wedding.

"So what did you want to talk about?" Deanna watched a message from Jean-Luc appear at the top of the list -- he'd forwarded a message from Senna.

"I didn't get a chance to tell you how much I enjoyed the wedding and the reception," Beverly said. She crossed her legs and leaned back on the couch. "I wasn't entirely sure what the ceremony might be like -- did you write the vows together?"

"Yes, but not entirely. He wanted something that didn't include elements of the supernatural. He kept looking up traditional vows and finding that they were too traditional for his taste. Too religious."

"I thought it was wonderful," Tasha said. She wasn't so sure of herself when they were talking about her captain; she was still uncertain how to see him as both commanding officer and friend. "But the poem...."

Beverly was smiling, at the mention of the poem. "I had no idea he was a poet."

"That was written more than a thousand years ago, by some poet from Earth," Deanna said.

"It raised the hair on the back of my neck," Beverly exclaimed.

"I haven't been to very many weddings, so maybe I'm not the best judge. But was it really as tense as it felt to me? Was it just me, or was it everyone?" Tasha asked.

Deanna shook her head, remembering. "It was everyone." Anticipation had been thick in the room, but it had been more than that. Jean-Luc had been excited but overwhelmed, and it had been contagious apparently.

"I think we all knew how nervous he was," Beverly said, taking Tasha's hand. It wasn't clear which of them she was reassuring. Tasha had started to fidget. "He wanted it to be a certain way, that accounted for some of it. But I'd guess a lot of it was just him being self conscious as usual."

"Why?" Tasha asked. "I guess everyone is nervous on their wedding day but aren't they also pretty happy about it?"

"He's not -- unhappy," Deanna said, not wanting to talk about Jean-Luc's feelings or motivations. "He wanted to be there, wanted all of you to be there as well."

Beverly seemed to understand. Her blue eyes were sober and serious. "He was anxious. He always is, when he's crossing the personal and the professional. He was nervous about having me aboard, initially. But maybe he's been so lonely he's trying to change his ways. I've wondered if he would ever get around to doing that."

The computer interrupted, which Deanna thought was timely. She thought it must be Will, though the bridge was close enough that she was unable to confirm by what she sensed. "Come in," she said, and her assumption proved correct.

Will was in uniform as Tasha and Beverly were, and startled to see them. "Hi," he said, glancing at Deanna uncertainly. "Sorry to interrupt?"

"This is the wedding debriefing," Beverly said, gesturing at the other end of the couch.

Will sat obediently, if stiffly. "It was a great time, I liked it. More celebration, less ceremony. I liked dancing with Tasha," he said, bumping her arm with his hand.

Tasha blushed again and leaned to bump shoulders with Beverly. She had been funny, uncoordinated and up for anything, at the reception. "I was drunk! Robert kept giving me wine!"

"That would be a feature, not a bug, of a wedding reception at a winery," Will said with a grin. "It's hard to pick a favorite part -- there was so much fun in watching the kids trying to get Jean-Luc to dance. Or watching the bride trying to walk around in her heels after she had a few."

"I have to say it was probably the most enjoyable wedding I've been to," Beverly said. "Including my own -- I was so stressed out that day. We did the straight Starfleet ceremony by default. I wish we'd done something else, something fun, it should have been more fun."

Tasha said nothing, just looked at Beverly's face. Thinking, afraid, and excited. It was almost like being told that they were actually thinking about it -- Beverly studiously not looking at Tasha, while thinking about the wedding, Beverly's wedding to Jack, and marriage in general, no doubt, as it would explain the complexity of her feelings at the moment.

"It was difficult for me to relax and enjoy it until after the ceremony," Deanna confessed. "I've never been to a wedding where there was so much tension."

Will's reaction, nervous glances at each of them, followed by an abashed expression and a flick of his eyes toward the door, was telling. "I was a bit nervous taking Randi, but he invited her and we had a good time."

"Are things better with you two?" Deanna asked. He hadn't talked about the situation, but she'd sensed tension from both of them for a while now.

"I think so. I hope so. I'm hoping she isn't going to back out of trying to make it work."

"Have you thought about couples counseling?" Beverly asked. 

Will shrugged. "Maybe I'll talk to her about it. So how does it feel to be married, Deanna?"

"I'm not sure how much different I should feel. I'm doing very well, actually, very satisfied with how it all worked out. Looking forward to getting back to work, as well." A flash on her monitor drew her attention -- she'd just gotten a message. She opened it with a tap on the panel, and raised her eyebrows. "I need to do something, I'm sorry -- excuse me."

Her friends watched her leave, and were starting to rise from the couch as she left her office. Deanna hurried to the lift and went to the bridge. She was admitted to the ready room without delay. Jean-Luc watched her approach with questioning eyes and some anticipation.

"I just got a message from personnel asking whether I will be changing my name," she said as she took a seat in front of his desk.

He smiled, relieved, probably expecting something more cataclysmic. "I had presumed you would decide that independently of me. It's your name."

"It's tradition for human wives to take their husband's names. We discussed my traditions and you were open to following them if it was important to me. Are there any of yours that I should consider following, that we haven't discussed?"

He stared at her with a rare look of shock. "You know the usual human customs, I believe."

"Not necessarily yours. There are more human customs than I knew about. Marie told me about some of the older French traditions she was aware of, at the reception when we were resting our feet between dances."

Jean-Luc sighed, looking tired, or resigned, but under it he was feeling somewhat bemused and self deprecating. "I thought about this when Geordi asked me after the ceremony about the rings. How some traditions are so inured that they almost feel necessary. Robert joked about my not wearing a ring, something about not wanting to feel tied down?"

"What it symbolizes to most is an enduring connection to their spouse," Deanna said. "Or a symbol of love. I'm less concerned about any of those meanings than I am what it means to you. I already feel a strong connection, I don't feel that you have to wear a ring if you don't want. But there are other things -- you didn't comment on what meaning it would have for you if I am not changing my name."

"I think it should be your decision," he said, quite firmly. But she could tell there was more to it than that. It explained why he hadn't brought it up. He hadn't wanted her to sense anything from him that would influence her.

"I will change it if you want." She wanted to know how he felt when she said it, and he confirmed her suspicion. His reaction was dismay, and beneath it, hope. 

He rolled his eyes, and sat there quietly frustrated. "Only if you honestly want to."

"Jean-Luc. Please ask me for what you want. If you want me to ask you for things that I want, you need to ask me."

That resulted in a heavy sigh. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his desk. "I can't make demands of you."

Deanna slid forward in her chair, put her hands on his desk, and shook her head at him while looking him in the eye. "You are not making demands if you ask your spouse to do something for you. I don't have to do it, after all. I don't have to say yes. But I might do it just because I know it would make you happy. Especially if it isn't really much of a concession."

He put his head in his hands for a moment.  He mumbled something she thought sounded like "Greg warned me."

"What did he warn you about?"

His hands dropped and he sat back in the chair again, studying her with narrowed eyes. "You would change your name for me."

"I would change it, and it would only be a little confusing if someone started calling me by surname only. Counselor Picard would take a little getting used to, as well."

He almost flinched as she said it. Tilted his head. "You have a point. Maybe we could have... a trial period?"

"How would we do that? Ask people to temporarily use Picard instead of Troi?"

It led to a prolonged wince. "I'm sorry, I'm not very good at this."

She left the chair and went around the desk, to lean against it, her skirt brushing his knee. "You want me to be Mrs. Picard, but you also want me to be Counselor Troi."

"It really doesn't sound rational, does it?"

"I think there's a middle ground -- there is a way to have both names. I could use Troi professionally and use Picard socially."

That seemed to settle well with him. "I hadn't thought of that. I've never known anyone who's done it."

"Do you have any other changes, or requests, for me to consider?" She smiled down at him, and waited.

"I don't think I really want to change much. As for other requests, I'll have to ask you to give me more time." Something came to mind then, and he hesitated, debating. Looked up at her with a little embarrassment. "There is one thing... you could wear that green one again." With that tentative remark came a different sort of anticipation that she found encouraging, though he was still finding it difficult to impose on her even in that minor way.

"That will not be a difficult thing to do. I like that one too. I'll see you later." She bent down to kiss him lightly on the lips and turned to depart the ready room.

He was adjusting, and he would continue to adjust. She would let him do that.

 

\--------------------

 

Jean-Luc was trying to focus on the list of repairs that had been done over the time they'd been in dry dock, and not on the memory of Deanna in a shining green negligee, when the computer announced a visitor. He brought himself to attention and admitted the officer without delay. 

"Hi," Beverly said, as she came in the ready room. "Thought I would check in -- let you know we're all ready in sickbay for whatever we're up against next. The upgrades went in while we were on leave."

"Good, good. Most departments are reporting we're ready. Just need to get a couple hundred crew back from leave on Earth, and we'll depart in the morning." He smiled at her as she came to sit down. "You had a good time I hope?"

Beverly smiled, and it took him back in time -- her eyes alight with happiness, that was how she had looked the day Jack introduced her to him. Only the uniform wasn't the same, they were older, and she was real to him now. He remembered having a different idea of her before. Partly based on what Jack had told him about her, partly on his own skewed perception of the moments he'd spent in her presence. He hoped he'd become a better observer of people than before. Beverly the chief medical officer of the _Enterprise_ was a good friend now. When she'd been his best friend's wife she had become his fantasy -- something about how happy Jack was suggested to him that there was something beyond Jean-Luc's awareness of relationships and how they worked, how they were supposed to be. It was as though he'd missed something when he'd tallied up the pros and cons of relationships and decided they weren't worth the effort. Now, of course, he had a better idea of what that missing part was.

"How does it feel, being married?" Beverly said, disrupting his moment of reflection.

"I'm not sure it's entirely sunk in yet. Not sure how to feel." He knew Deanna was aware of him, and he was in turn aware of her -- she'd been calm, concerned at times, but their conversation just twenty minutes ago had given him some anxiety that he'd been attempting to settle. Having Beverly asking him questions was exacerbating it, and Deanna was concerned now. He tried to calm himself, before she started to question -- refocused on his friend.

Beverly nodded sagely. "I remember feeling giddy and a little out of it for a while. And then when we started talking about having Wes it happened again. A sobering thought being tied permanently to someone -- if that's what you set out to do."

"What was it like, having a child?" Perhaps that would get her to stop comparing her wedding to his.

Beverly did a double take, but caught herself. She smiled without obvious amusement at him. "Life altering, of course. It's one of life's mysteries how we continue to have children despite the conundrum of it being so intense, sometimes miserable, sometimes frustrating, yet so satisfying in the end if the kid manages to finish school, go off on his own and be independent. Are you planning to have kids?"

He was bereft for a few minutes, but she waited patiently. "I don't know how to answer that. I don't know how to approach it." Or talk about it, yet, obviously. It settled in his chest like a weight. On the one hand, he knew despite all her dodging that Deanna wanted children. On the other, he wasn't sure he was really suited to fatherhood. 

"Will said that you surprised him, the other day when his friend's widow and son came aboard," she commented, and internally he winced -- he didn't like being talked about, and that proved what he'd already suspected, that people talked about him. She went on without noticing his distress. "That you seemed actually to be somewhat comfortable with the boy -- that he was comfortable with you, too."

"I suppose."

Beverly studied him for an uncomfortable moment. "You know that isn't a bad thing, right?"

"I know. But I'm not comfortable being under scrutiny."

Her incredulous stare didn't help. "Jean-Luc... honestly. We're your _friends_  being happy for you, not evaluators or admirals doing a performance review. I know you've been nothing but an officer forever but you don't have to be so stressed about this sort of thing, we don't have any expectations other than to see you happy. Are you happy?"

"If you mean am I happy about being married, of course I am."

She slid forward in her chair and leaned, putting her hands on the leading edge of the desk, looked closely at his face. "I just can't shake the suspicion there's something more... is there anything I can do to help?"

He wasn't sure how to answer without being rude. He settled for staring at her and wishing she would stop.

"Because, you know, we really like Deanna," she went on when he didn't reply at once. "We'd like to think she hasn't moved in with some curmudgeon who's going to put a damper on her general warm, open nature -- though Senna seems reasonable enough, and she's Betazoid, and I would think she'd talk some sense into her cousin if she sensed you were bad for her."

That was a reason to glare. "Beverly...."

She sat back in her chair with a look of satisfaction. "Jack was right, you know, being teased isn't the end of the universe. What the hell are you sitting here brooding about? You're supposed to come back from a honeymoon with a nice tan, a glow, a smile, maybe a swagger and a sly wink here and there. Instead I ask you how it feels to be married and you look like I just caught you with a hand in the cookie jar."

"Could you possibly be more sarcastic?" He tried to be just as sarcastic, but suspected he was being rather pathetic. Embarrassed, and wishing he had grounds to snap at her now. She'd misunderstood his reactions and he didn't care to correct her.

"I could. But I'm still worried about you, so I'll settle for expressing concern and waiting for you to be the man I saw at the reception."

"Why would I, I'm in my ready room," he exclaimed, chiding her.

"In your ready room with a friend, Jean-Luc!" Beverly rolled her eyes. "Okay. I guess I can see how this is going to go."

"Look," he began, then hesitated and rethought his words. "I appreciate your concern, but it's misplaced. We're fine. I'm merely experiencing some difficulty coming back from leave. I'm distracted, that's all. You distracted me from thinking about... other things, so I stopped smiling and glowing. Were you expecting me to sit here thinking about other things when you're talking to me?"

The chime kept her from responding. She stood up as he told the computer to let the person in, then watched Will approach, smiled, and sat down again. The first officer glanced askance at her and came to a halt next to her chair. 

"I thought I'd check in," Will said. "Everything all right?" He glanced again at Beverly.

"She was trying to get me to talk about the honeymoon."

"Greece," Will replied with a grin. He'd been the only one aboard who had known. "I bet there was a beach involved. Gorgeous beaches there."

"Yes, there was also a bungalow without an address. We were beamed in and out. Quite remote, and quiet, and private."

Will sidled behind Beverly's chair, raised his leg, and dropped straight down into the one on her left. "I bet you sat and read a book the entire time."

Jean-Luc smirked at that. "Of course."

"Probably spent some time swimming. Stayed properly hydrated, of course."

"Of course."

"And I suppose you also talked a little about things married people talk about?" Beverly threw in, trying again. 

"We discussed a few things," Jean-Luc admitted. 

"The Hamadarabrid?" Will asked, still grinning.

That confused Beverly as well -- like Jean-Luc, she cocked her head and frowned. "The what?" she asked, saving him the trouble.

"It's what most people call the Betazoid Kama Sutra. Has lots of pictures, if you can't read the old text."

Beverly leaned away from Will and gave him a long, open-mouthed look of stunned amazement. "You're kidding," she exclaimed at last.

"Oh, that," Jean-Luc said, affecting nonchalance and boredom. "No, we went through that before we left."

It was rewarding to have them staring at him in surprise instead of amusement, for once. They exchanged a look, eyebrows raised.

"Well, what did you expect? I never go on an away mission unprepared," Jean-Luc said as if stating the painfully-obvious.

"Is this book widely available?" Beverly asked. "Why have I never heard of it?"

"You can borrow my copy," Will said, tapping her arm conspiratorially. "It's not in the computer."

Jean-Luc smiled at this exchange, and glanced at his monitor. He had gone through messages and there was nothing urgent, and with nothing left to review he faced whatever these two were willing to dish out next. And he suspected that the slowly-changing emotions Deanna was projecting indicated she was doing something he would appreciate. Probably with chocolate. That was a familiar collection of feelings now, as she made a habit of enjoying chocolate 

"I'll leave you to discuss this further, then," Jean-Luc said, rising from his seat. "I'm all caught up and there are other matters for me to tend to before we leave drydock."

"Other matters?" Will echoed, more surprised than curious.

"I'm fairly certain there's a naked woman eating chocolate in my quarters. I'm going to help her," Jean-Luc tossed over his shoulder as he strode off for the door. As he left, Beverly started to laugh, the sound cut off by the closing door.

Data had come to the bridge, and turned from discussing something with Geordi as the two of them stood next to the helm. "Captain," the android exclaimed. "Welcome back."

"Thank you, Mr. Data. Mr. LaForge." He gave them a curt nod and turned to go.

"I really enjoyed the wedding, sir," Geordi said warmly.

It gave him pause -- on one hand, he was certain there was a nearly-naked wife waiting for him, projecting clearly that she wanted him, she was thinking about him and hoping, and he felt drawn to give her what she wanted. On the other, this was an opportunity to turn over a new leaf, be less stiff and formal. 

"Glad to hear it, Geordi," he said with a smile.

"Will there be a reception for the crew?" Data asked.

That distracted him. "A what?"

Data exchanged a look with Geordi. "We have both been asked this by some of the officers in our departments. Whether there would be a reception before we depart, for the crew -- to let everyone have a chance to congratulate both of you."

On the face of it, that didn't sound like a bad idea. But his gut told him there was great potential for disaster. "Let me talk to Deanna about it. I'm not sure whether she would want to."

"Okay, just say the word, we'll help," Geordi said in an unusually chipper tone.

"Deanna has always appeared to enjoy parties," Data said eagerly. "I am sure she would enjoy it."

Jean-Luc raised a hand, let it drop, groped for words. "I assure you I'll ask -- but she might be a bit too tired for a party." He turned to go, almost faltering at the sly chuckle from Geordi, almost wincing -- he'd not intended to insinuate anything.

He made it into the lift without looking back. It shot down with the usual speed, and suddenly changed direction. And the doors opened -- deck six, damn it. A lieutenant walked in and smiled at him.

"Good afternoon, Lieutenant," he said briskly.

"Sir." She faced forward and put her hands behind her back. "Deck ten, sickbay."

The lift started again. He thought about Deanna, in the green lingerie -- she would be wearing the tiny panties, and the top barely reaching her navel, and the silk would feel smooth against his palm....

"Congratulations, sir," the lieutenant said quietly.

He glanced at her, and realized he was smiling -- probably just the way Beverly had suggested he should be, post-honeymoon. "Thank you."

She was also smiling, but with a fond look in her eyes. Not really looking at him, either. "When I got married I smiled that way for weeks. I was so happy to be posted here, where we could all be together. It's much easier to raise a child when you're living with the other parent."

"Your husband is aboard?"

"Yes, you know him -- Lieutenant Tabor, he teaches the art class?"

"Ah, yes. I'm afraid I haven't been attending very faithfully. But I do intend to go back." The lift halted, on deck eight -- his stop. "Good afternoon, Lieutenant."

He left the lift at a rapid clip. Deanna was still projecting happy thoughts, lascivious ones in fact, and his body was responding to it -- he was thankful there was no traffic in the corridor outside their quarters. He hurried through the door, through the empty living room, straight into the bedroom.

"Deanna -- "

The words left him at the sight of her. He stood at the foot of the bed and gazed down at her nearly-naked body, which he'd seen often enough yet still she took his breath away -- though it might actually be the look on her face, as she watched him approach with happy eyes and appreciative smile. She reclined on her left side, propping herself up on her elbow, her hair loose and cascading down her shoulders. She ate a bite from a dish of chocolate ice cream sitting on the bed in front of her.

"Want some?" she asked, smiling up at him as if he were made of chocolate as well.

He exhaled loudly, realizing he'd been holding his breath. When he took a step forward she gave him a dubious look, and it occurred to him why -- he suspected they were actually transferring thoughts to each other now, because he'd been entirely focused on her. He obeyed the urge to remove his clothing and slowly joined her on the bed, leaving his uniform in a pile on the floor.

"Much better." She watched his face as she scooped up ice cream and fed it to him. "You like it?"

Not as much as he appreciated her. He put his hand on her abdomen and caressed up beneath the shimmering green slip to run his thumb lightly along the underside of a breast. "I like you."

"You were saying you should be on the bridge -- did you change your mind?" As if she didn't know she'd changed his mind.

"Beverly told me I should be happier, or glowing, or something. I was confused. Thought you might have forgotten to wax me before we left the beach."

She giggled at that and took a bite of her ice cream. "You lovely man."

"Not really, but I'm glad you think so." He let her feed him another spoonful. "Beverly thinks I'm a bad influence on you."

"She should have warned me before the wedding, then," Deanna said, clearly not taking it seriously. "I think you're fine."

"I suppose she resents that you aren't telling her everything about the honeymoon. Probably going out of your way to protect me."

Deanna blinked, then put the bowl up on the headboard out of the way. She reached across to touch his chest. "I'm doing nothing of the sort -- I don't tell her everything. Don't take her teasing so seriously."

"Is there such a thing as a Hamadarabrid?"

She had been moving toward him, wriggling to close the inches between them, and her eyes went wide as she looked up. "Where did you hear about that? Oh -- Will was trying to tease you as well?"

"I'm not sure whether to be offended or pleased that you haven't shown it to me."

She smirked at him and completed her journey, pushing the green silk against his chest until he could feel her nipples through it. "I didn't feel we needed it. We've done well enough without needing lessons, don't you think?"

"We have indeed." He was conscious of her presence in his mind; he'd been more and more able to tell when they were more connected than usual. His hand drifted down her hip, his fingers pushing the bikini along, and he knew it was her impulse propelling it. "Data wants to throw a reception for us, for the crew at large. Apparently people are asking if there will be one."

"Let's think about that later?" Deanna settled on her back while he continued to slide that thin strip of silk down her thighs. "Are we going to teach the computer to put privacy settings in place while we're both in the bedroom? It would save time."

"We can do it later." He slipped his hand between her thighs and found her wet, let his fingers follow her whim. Then his tongue.

He thought, after making her come, that it might be worth actually checking out a copy of the Hamadarabrid. She countered with reassurance that she'd already shared her favorite positions with him, in the very direct manner of a telepath, following up on the thought with moving to straddle him and assume one of them. It was already one of his favorites as well.

It was strange, how he'd become accustomed to this closeness, he mused as he held her in his arms, both of them panting quietly in the aftermath. She was mildly amused by the thought and continued to lay on him, draped in her usual post-coital relaxed, sweaty cuddle.

"Mrs. Picard," he murmured.

"Mr. Picard," she replied.

"We should have the reception," he said with a sigh.

That led to her sitting up to scrutinize him. The wrinkled green silk had settled askew on her breasts. "You don't want to."

"I know that it's probably important for the crew. I don't necessarily want to spend hours on it."

"You have a hunch, that it's important," she said. "All right. It will give me an opportunity to announce that I'm changing my name."

He blinked up at her, suddenly on alert. "What?"

"I'm going to change my name to Picard. Not just socially."

"But -- you're sure?"

Her smile was warm, almost beatific. "I decided I'm leaving the Fifth House, and this is one of the steps. Changing my name. And it means something to you, something you aren't able to articulate to me because you feel so strongly that I should make my own decisions, yet something makes you want me to do it. Perhaps it's because that unites us in a way that jewelry doesn't -- having the same name."

He smiled up at her, and he was sure now that he was glowing, in that manner that his CMO had wanted him to. He was happy they were so connected, as he wasn't finding the words and he wanted her to know how this affected him. Deanna resettled on the bed at his side, and he drew her into his arms and kissed her, feeling the satisfaction of having her there yet again, only more than he'd thought possible.


	46. Chapter 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we have an episode attempting to create a long story arc. I'd forgotten the conceit that in TNG the Romulans haven't been seen since Kirk's time or shortly after. The premise was that they were creating tension, by having this mysterious force that was destroying Romulan outposts as well as Federation -- foreshadowing for the Borg. Yet nothing is done. No evidence examined. No real action on the part of the temporary allied vessels on both sides that we see. From where I'm sitting there's just this inefficiency -- why should Picard be traveling in a shuttle to some emergency face to face if secure channels exist? Why didn't the admirals do as Quinn does and come out to him at high warp on some vessel? Why go out and posture and then go somewhere else to deliver these random people from the past instead of letting those people continue to adjust where they are and getting things done - nothing is served by taking the Enterprise out of the area again without any investigation of this unseen menace, which certainly should have been looked into.
> 
> The poor quality of the script was blamed on a writer's strike. There were a couple of lines that flew in the face of Trek principles -- Picard being dismissive of Data's effort to rescue the people from the pod being one of them. 
> 
> Needless to say, it's getting a rewrite here. Some of the dialogue is from the episode but slightly altered or given to other characters; most locations and dates are from the episode.

Deanna reached the bridge fully aware that there were serious matters afoot. Jean-Luc had been tight-lipped for two days after Admiral Quinn had come and gone with the _Horatio_ , and tense each evening -- she knew it was a crisis of incredible magnitude, for him to be so closed to her. In the two weeks following the wedding they had enjoyed a period of increasing closeness and harmony; she had sensed him settle at last in a way that told her that marriage did indeed hold a deeply-rooted meaning for him and he felt a contentment now that was obvious to anyone. Beverly had commented on it as recently as the dinner they had had with the senior staff, just prior to the admiral's arrival.

He'd apologized to her the first evening after his meeting with Quinn, and tried to be more present. But it was obvious that he had a lot on his mind, and she did her best not to disrupt or distract. The staff meeting they were about to have would hopefully be revealing. She came down from behind tactical after a glance at Tasha -- her friend was entirely focused on the console in front of her, and tense, which meant that perhaps something was already happening. Deanna unobtrusively went to her seat and sat down, glancing around the bridge at the rest of the officers, and waited for more information. Jean-Luc was standing in the middle of the bridge behind the helm and ops, at attention.

"Mr. Data?"

"It is definitely of Terran origin, sir," Data said. "It has an ancient solar generator and is traveling at such low speed that it is nearly adrift -- if it continues on its current heading, it will eventually enter the Kazis binary system and be destroyed."

From his seat, Will spoke up. "Is there anyone aboard?"

Data's head swung back and forth as he ran more scans. "I do not detect anything other than minimal energy readings -- there is a minimal oxygen atmosphere."

"Sir?" Will asked, deferring to the captain under the circumstance.

Jean-Luc crossed his arms and stared at the small vessel in the middle of the main viewer. "Pull it into the shuttle bay and get us underway again. Have sciences take a look at it later. I'll be in my ready room, Number One."

Once the captain had vanished behind his door, there was an immediate drop in the tension on the bridge. Data followed orders, contacting personnel and arranging the retrieval of the little ship. Deanna glanced at Will again, and found him looking back at her.

"What is that?" she asked, pointing with her chin at the screen.

"A very old ship from Earth, apparently, but there's no beacon or computer activity or a response when we hail it, and any markings that might have been on the hull are long gone -- it's been out here a long time," Will said. "We ran across it on sensors and dropped out of warp to take a look."

"Are we postponing the meeting?" she asked.

Will was solemn; his eyes went to the ready room door. "I'm not sure."

Jean-Luc emerged from the ready room abruptly, as the lift opened again and Beverly walked onto the bridge with Worf. The captain strode across the bridge angrily and went into the observation lounge, and Deanna knew from the underlying sheepishness that he must have been distracted by the appearance of the old vessel and forgotten the meeting. She followed him, and the others followed her slowly, all of them wary. She took the seat on his left and folded her hands on the table in front of her, and waited.

When everyone was present -- Geordi came in last, arriving from engineering, and took the seat at the far end of the table -- Jean-Luc cleared his throat. "You may have already ascertained that we are heading for the Neutral Zone, and so assume that we are about to confront the Romulans."

"I had supposed that might be the case," Data said. He went silent when Will shot him a look across the table. The captain was being quite rigid, and tended to be intolerant of chatter when under duress.

"There have been a series of incidents along the Neutral Zone. Two Federation outposts in sector three zero have been destroyed, and there has been no communication with starbases in sector three one since stardate 41903.2," Jean-Luc said sternly.

"Romulans," Worf growled under his breath.

"There's been no direct contact with the Romulans since the Tomed incident," Will said. "Fifty years of silence, and they're back and destroying our outposts?"

Everyone now radiated anxiety -- Deanna resisted the urge to plex and waited, bearing the brunt of it all. Tasha broke the silence after a moment. "How many ships are they sending?"

"Starfleet is sending one vessel," Jean-Luc said.

Will gaped at that. "What if they have a fleet waiting for us?"

"Counselor," Jean-Luc said, and paused until she raised her eyes to his. "We've been provided with a great deal of classified material on the Romulans. I need you to review it and provide a full profile. I'd rather outthink than outfight them. We'll assemble again in six hours -- all of you should prepare your departments, and yourselves, for any outcome. Mr. McKay, are we on course?"

The new helmsman nodded briskly. "Aye sir, we are on the original course at warp six."

"Increase speed to warp eight. Dismissed."

Everyone departed with alacrity, and Deanna watched them go, thinking this had to be the shortest meeting in the history of the _Enterprise._ She turned to look at the captain, and to her surprise he leaned across the corner of the table to take her hand.

"I know," she said, reassuring, responding to the unspoken feelings that passed between them. "I'm not sure how much good I can do, reviewing what you already must have studied over the past few days."

"I need a different perspective. I can predict Worf's or Tasha's, I can predict Will's. Anyone who's been in battle drills at the Academy in simulations can tell you what the Romulans are like in a fight, historically. I need more than that."

"All right. I'll do my best."

He looked her in the eye, and for the first time in days, smiled a little. "That is usually more than sufficient. Thank you."

They stood up together, and he didn't let go of her hand, instead pulled her in and drew her into his arms. It was difficult for him, when he was this anxious -- he had been exerting his iron will to keep it at bay while attempting to prepare himself for this endeavor. But there was something new to consider, for him. He had her, and he had all the families aboard, and while she had attempted to let him keep his thoughts to himself, she knew that was all part of it despite her giving him as much privacy as she could.

She wondered that he hadn't considered putting the families off the ship at the nearest starbase. But the rapid response had precluded that -- there was no time. Starfleet had sent them at high warp to investigate.

"I'll see you later," she said softly, brushing her lips along his cheek. He let her go and stood like a statue watching her leave.

When she returned to the bridge for the followup meeting hours later, having been alerted by her alarm that roused her from long study of available material on the Romulans, everyone was already in the observation lounge, and her chair on Jean-Luc's right hand was empty and waiting for her. She sat down and looked at the faces of her friends, and wished she could be more encouraging.

"I was just letting everyone know that we have no new information," the captain said. "Have you concluded your research?"

"I reviewed the information at hand, including reports dating back to the first Romulan-Federation war. I'm sure most of us have heard much of it before," she said, with a look at Will. His serious expression confirmed that. Data gave a slight nod, and Geordi and Tasha sat next to each other wearing similar grim expressions. "The problem that I have with my review has been developing a context for their wildly variable behavior over time. I think, though, that you will find them willing to talk to you instead of shooting first."

"Romulans cannot be trusted," Worf intoned.

The captain did not immediately speak -- Deanna could tell he was deliberately holding his tongue, for the seconds it took to calm down and not snap at Worf. "Lieutenant. Your feelings are understandable. However, this is not the best forum to express them -- we are tasked by Starfleet to investigate, which we will do as objectively as we can, and not instigate, nor jump to conclusions prematurely about the situation. Go on, Counselor."

"I believe you will find that Romulans share many qualities with Vulcans. However, there are aspects of their culture which they definitely do not share with Federation species. The practice of slavery, for one."

Jean-Luc's eyebrow twitched, and there were a few moments of shock and general outrage from several around the table. Worf grumbled under his breath. When no one spoke, Deanna went on.

"Romulans are as intelligent as Vulcans, but freely express their emotions. After some careful searching through records, which are anything but comprehensive, I have a few tentative theories. I believe that as a people the Romulans have been fighting for survival for a very long time. They departed Vulcan, and traveled through space to create a new home. They recreated civilization -- they rejected the teachings of Surak, and no doubt evolved beyond what they were before they left but in different ways. Hardened, by the challenges of the journey, and by the hostile region of space they settled in. It's been asked before -- why the long silence? Why have they been gone for so long, after encounters with the Federation? It isn't because they are timid. They were never intimidated by us. There must have been something else happening. Perhaps some other species unknown to us has been occupying them."

"You think the outposts were attacked by someone other than the Romulans?" Tasha exclaimed.

Deanna glanced down the table at the line of grim faces. "Why would they suddenly destroy our outposts that way, after decades of silence? The Federation did nothing to provoke them."

"They do not need a reason. They have no honor," Worf intoned. 

"There is always a reason," Deanna said, smiling at the Klingon. "People always have reasons -- there would be a calculated, rational reason behind such attacks. If they were instigating a war, the fleets would have already made themselves known in Federation space. There may be no Klingon honor in them, but there would be more than the destruction of a handful of outposts by now if there were any real intent to engage with the Federation in battle. I would have expected a well-planned assault of many warbirds to have been staged strategically throughout the sector in conjunction with the attack. There's been nothing."

"Has anyone tried to contact the Romulans directly?" Beverly asked. 

It was obvious no one present had had that thought; Jean-Luc smirked and shot a look at Deanna. "Not to my knowledge. I believe we will be the ones to make that contact."

"We should assume that it was not them," Deanna said. "And when we do make contact, we should offer assistance. A hostile third party would be attacking all installations in the region. There is nothing to suggest that the Romulan outposts on the other side of the zone were affected, but nothing to say that they were not. For them to attack Federation outposts without followup is irrational, and they are not irrational."

"So show them we're as rational as they are," Tasha said, smiling in appreciation.

"Take a stance that doesn't invite conflict," Will added. "Assert the reality we want and allow it to be corrected if necessary."

Jean-Luc appreciated that idea. "It sounds like a good place to start. Is there anything else you feel would be important?"

"It might be useful to consider that a species in constant conflict for centuries is likely still operating from a more paranoid, survival-oriented defensive attitude. Justification of anxious conclusions is easier when you believe your survival as a species depends on vigilance, keeping the upper hand, and putting up a strong front. Not showing weakness. They will attempt to maintain a deception if they feel one is necessary. Even if the commander in charge values honesty, the defense of the state is more important than the values of the individual."

"The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few," Jean-Luc commented, quoting Vulcan philosophy. "Thank you, Counselor."

"Was there anything in your review that might suggest the identity of the hypothetical aggressor?" Will asked.

"The Federation has not explored beyond Romulan space into the Beta Quadrant, and I didn't find anything about other species they allied with, nor any they might be at war with. Perhaps we'll find out when we investigate the outpost." Deanna turned expectantly back to the captain.

"Mr. Data," he began. "Is there anything of note regarding the vessel we brought aboard?" 

He was thinking, Deanna knew, of whether the ancient ship might be leaking hazardous radiation or somehow dangerous to the ship. But Data was excited about other things. "Yes, sir. We have found three humans in cryogenic pods within the vessel."

Jean-Luc stared at the android while processing that information. "Three humans, in what state?"

"Asleep, sir," Geordi announced. "I pulled some data from the old computer system aboard. Apparently, this was one of the capsules launched by a company in the late twentieth century -- the people in stasis were sold the opportunity to be put in cryogenic pods, until the fatal conditions they were dying of were no longer considered fatal. These are people who all had medical issues when they were put in the freeze."

"Are these people alive?" Will asked. He hadn't been privy to this information yet, and was surprised as Jean-Luc. 

Beverly sighed. "They are in cryo, without life signs, but they could be revived. Somehow I don't think they intended to be frozen for so long, however, and I'm hesitating to just crack open the pods and bring them around."

"Can their conditions be cured?" Jean-Luc asked. 

"Of course. Nothing difficult about any of them. We're in the middle of this crisis, however, and I can't imagine bringing them out of it makes sense. They can be revived in two weeks just as easily as today."

"I have a science team working on a thorough examination of the ship, and the data from its computer," Data said. "If we do revive them it would be logical to connect them to any descendants they may have on Earth."

"It should be interesting to talk to someone who's from the twentieth century. That was a particularly turbulent period, if I remember history accurately," Geordi said. 

"They'll likely be unable to believe they are so far removed from their lives, at first," Deanna said. "It will be incredibly traumatic to find that all their friends and family are gone. Also that they are so far from Earth -- completely disconnected from everything they knew. I agree that we should wait until after we finish the investigation to revive them."

"Shouldn't we discuss what should be done if we are unable to negotiate with the Romulans?" Worf blurted. He'd been simmering angrily since Deanna had finished her summary. 

"Mr. Worf, do you disagree with the counselor's suggestions?" Jean-Luc asked mildly. 

"I am suggesting that we should be prepared in the event that the Romulans continue to be as duplicitous as they have always been," Worf said indignantly. 

"And I feel that we are prepared -- I asked the counselor for an opinion precisely because I wanted one that was not informed by battle drills and history lessons that talked exclusively of Romulan battle tactics. We are here to maintain the peace, investigate the destruction of some of our outposts, and report back to Starfleet. I would prefer not to be made an example of for future generations, as the one who rekindled a war between the Federation and the Romulan Empire."

"Yes, sir," Worf grumbled. 

"If there's nothing else," Jean-Luc said. 

Deanna watched everyone leave, smiling a little at Beverly who gave her a quick look of eye-rolling relief that Worf had subsided again. Everyone was well aware of the Klingon's biases. When the rest of the senior staff had departed, Deanna turned to find Jean-Luc watching her.

"I'm sorry that I've been so distracted," he said. 

"Occupational hazard. You feel less anxious -- you have a plan."

"Yes. You're staying on the bridge when we finally confront the Romulans."

She nodded. "If we're going to die in battle, I'd rather spend the time I have left at your side."

Jean-Luc leaned forward to rest his forehead in his palm. Trying not to laugh. "Oh, well."

"Isn't that what you want?"

He leaned back in the chair, slumping a little now, looking at her with sudden seriousness. She'd been trying to inject a moment of gallows humor, and he was thinking more as he'd been doing -- sober, contemplative, introspective. 

"I believe it's already been established I intend to spend the rest of my life with you," he said.

Deanna smiled, tears prickling in her eyes. "So it is what you want. But I doubt that will be so brief a time as I implied. Everyone knows you're immortal."

He snorted at that. "I will certainly do my best. Especially if you'll be there at the end of each day. We'll be arriving in an hour at the first outpost. Come to the ready room."

She followed him across the bridge, noting that no one paid much attention -- they were still traveling at high warp and Will glanced at them as they passed in front of him, but thought nothing of it. They entered the ready room and the door closed behind her. Jean-Luc slowed as he approached his desk, then turned and reached out with both hands.

Deanna took them without questioning, and found herself being pulled in -- he kissed her cheek, and held her for a few long moments. She enjoyed that he had finally relaxed enough to give her that. But he pulled away and went to the replicator as he once again felt anxious. When he returned with two cups of tea, they went to the sofa to settle in to wait together. 

“I’m concerned about Worf,” he said once they were seated and drinking tea.

“You think he’s at risk of making a bad choice, possibly compromising the mission. Because of his hatred for the Romulans. I’m not so sure about that. He’ll follow orders.”

“You’re saying he has good self control.”

“Generally. He was demonstrating a great deal of restraint in the meeting.” Deanna sipped her tea.

“Some feel that a Klingon in Starfleet is a bad idea. I’ve found him to be an excellent officer; Tasha clearly thinks so, as she includes him in meetings -- keeps him fully informed.”

“Her ‘wingman.’ As Will calls it. He looks up to you, as we all do.”

“I want him to have every opportunity to excel, but he’s a potential complication if he makes a misstep while involved in this mission -- this is not an occasion we can afford teaching moments.”

Deanna smiled at him, crossing her legs and setting her tea on the end table. “Tasha understands that. I’m sure he’ll do fine.”

He gave her another one of those measured looks that made her wonder what he was thinking. Since he’d been so preoccupied with the Romulan threat, she had been trying not to intrude. "After this is over," he began, then fell back into deep thought, his finger tapping on the side of his cup in the absent-minded way of someone caught up in serious matters. Then he glanced at her again. "I think we should try."

"Try...?"

"Try -- I mean, we should -- " He grimaced and huffed, frustrated with himself. "If you want to we should start trying to have a child."

"Oh." She smiled a little at it, and recovered from the surprise quickly. "Even though you are still very nervous about that?"

"I don't know that I'll ever stop being nervous about it. But it isn't the sort of thing one approaches without anxiety, I gather -- I've been told that becoming a parent is always an anxious experience."

"You are willing to struggle through and have a baby in spite of it? How did you come to this decision in the middle of this mission? I thought you were obsessing about the data you were provided and planning strategy."

"We've discussed how having a family changes a person, how it might change our careers. It's changing the way I think about my life -- I would be focused on the mission exclusively before, now I am thinking also of how our future may look -- if this does result in a war or a skirmish, life changes radically for all of us in the Federation. And if I view my own life through that lens and think about timing... I don't know that there will ever be a better time to have children. I don't know that it will ever be safe. We may simply encounter mission after dangerous mission, each one as life-threatening as the last, and be fine. I can't see that waiting would give us any better opportunity, unless we were to quit Starfleet altogether, and even that gives us no guarantee -- we just finished confronting a threat to the Federation on Earth, arguably one of the safest worlds in the Federation."

She listened, but paid more attention to how he felt. "So you are bowing to the inevitable lack of any real guarantee that we will have ideal conditions in which to raise children, and deciding despite the anxiety to simply have a child and do whatever you need to do -- you're confident enough to do this."

He smiled again, tentative, but she could sense that this was settled, so far as he was concerned. The anxiety was different. There was anticipation, still some fear, but he was decided. "I am confident that we can. This last few months has been incredible. I hardly imagined it might be possible to feel as I do, and so I think it's that much more likely that adjusting to a child will be possible. That I can't picture it only means I haven't enough experience yet to predict what might happen. But whatever happens we'll manage it together."

Deanna nodded slowly. "Then I think -- "

The computer sounded the alert that someone wanted entry, and he sighed. "Come," he called out, turning to look over his shoulder at the person coming through the door behind him.

Will smiled down at them, felt a little relief -- she wondered what it was he'd expected to find them doing -- and gestured with a hand as he spoke. "We're starting to get sensor readings, close enough to pick up the outpost -- I thought you would want to know."

Jean-Luc left his tea on the table and Deanna followed them out on the bridge proper, and the three of them sat down in their places. "Commander Yar, any contacts other than the outpost?"

"No, sir, and I'm scanning for anything that might indicate a cloaked vessel -- I don't doubt they've improved that technology but I thought it would be worth a try."

"So what are we seeing on the outpost? What's its status?" Will asked. The small silver object on the main viewer was not shown in sufficient detail to draw any conclusions visually.

"I'm not picking up any life signs," Tasha said sadly. "There's some debris around the station."

"Let's move in slow, Mr. McKay, half impulse," Jean-Luc said.

Deanna did as she often did on the bridge -- watched and listened, as the _Enterprise_ went about its appointed task. The tension was still high; people were probably imagining that warbirds would decloak any minute, to challenge them, even though the ship was firmly on the Federation side of the Neutral Zone and well within their right to be there at the Federation outpost. She sensed nothing beyond their own crew, and watched the screen as Data reported his findings and beamed various pieces into a cargo bay for closer examination.

Since the outpost was maintaining life support and there was no indication of life, an away team. Will stood, told Tasha to select three more security officers, and hesitated, glancing at Deanna. She questioned wordlessly, spent a few seconds silently discussing the matter, and stood to follow the first officer from the bridge. She stood stiffly upright in the lift, not looking at either Tasha or Will.

"Sir," Tasha began, then hesitated. But mustered the nerve anyway. "Sir, I'm not sure I understand why the counselor should be included."

"The captain had her review Romulan behavior -- I thought she should look at what's over there and give an opinion. If the sensors are correct we're fine."

"I don't sense anyone out there," Deanna said.

"I wonder -- " Tasha stopped, dismayed and uncomfortable.

"Commander?" Deanna inquired softly.

"I can't," she blurted.

The lift stopped, and they left it and were joined by Tasha's officers on the way to the transporter room. Will told O'Brien to beam them into the bridge of the small starbase, and they materialized in the center of the empty room. It was a large area with older style consoles, and everything was as normal as it should have been -- except there were no people.

"Power, life support -- it's like they just stepped away for a meeting," Tasha said as she looked around with her weapon drawn. "Lieutenant Tomas, Green, search the rest of this deck. Naples, check the computer for the last recorded log entries -- see if we can pull relevant footage from the bridge recorder."

Will had drifted over to what must have been the operations station. "Everything seems to be functional. Computer, station status -- damage report."

"Working." A few moments passed. Deanna moved across to the tactical console, and studied the readouts over Tasha's shoulder. The computer spoke again, and it brought all of them to attention. "There has been no damage to the station."

"What?" Will snapped. He worked at the panel in front of him for a moment. "There were supposed to be six shuttles and a small vessel here, they're all gone."

"I have the last log entry," Naples announced. "Computer, put it on the main viewer."

The view of the stars and the aft nacelle of the _Enterprise_ blinked out and the face of a middle-aged man in uniform appeared. "Captain's log, stardate 41972.4. We're picking up alien ships on the long range -- "

"Sir," came a voice from the background, and the man turned his head as the recording continued. "They're coming in fast!"

"Red Alert!" The klaxons sounded, and then someone else shouted. And then the captain was yelling for shields, weapons, people responded, the phasers were fired once, and then there was screaming.

The recording ran for a few minutes after the screaming stopped. The computer must have shut it off then; the screen went dark.

They had all gathered around the screen, and all of them stared at it for another silent moment.

Deanna realized that she'd raised her hand to her mouth. Then she realized that the longer they were there, the more her skin crawled -- she had to deliberately slow her breathing, attempting to calm herself down. She had decided before they beamed over that she would keep herself firmly in the present. That she didn't want to feel whatever the station personnel, all fifty of them, had gone through to meet their untimely end.

The problem was that listening to the final log entry had drawn her focus to the man who made it -- her senses were that automatic, that she would attempt to sense the other, and already it had begun, the drift into the past. Not even the distant past. It had been only a couple of weeks.

"This wasn't the Romulans," she whispered. "I don't know what it was. It -- " Searing pain ran through her. She cried out and caught herself by grabbing the edge of the console before she could fall to her knees.

"Riker to _Enterprise,"_ came the immediate response. "Beam the counselor to sickbay."

Before she could protest she was pulled away. There were the usual people, Ogawa and Nance and Dr. Crusher, waiting to put her on a biobed.

"I'm fine," she cried. "It's nothing. Just what I sensed."

"Let me be the judge," Beverly said. "Sit down. You're sobbing. You look like you're in pain."

Deanna tolerated the attention while she let herself breathe and tried not to keep channeling the past, which was easier now that she was no longer on the outpost. She was almost breathing normally again when Jean-Luc arrived, his face serious and wary.

"Counselor."

"Captain," she responded, dismayed that she still sounded somewhat distressed. The feeling of pins and needles over most of her body was starting to subside.

"Report," he said simply. Ogawa shot him a look that suggested she found that somewhat offensive.

"Whatever happened here was sudden, extremely painful, and completely removed the people from the station -- all the shuttles were gone, it's possible someone might have escaped. But whoever did this had very fast, very strong ships and I doubt there are survivors. The terror was -- " Her throat closed around the words. She took a slow deep breath, attempting to calm herself.

He nodded slowly. Of course -- she'd included him in her experience vicariously, because she hadn't thought to block him out before going. "I know."

"Yellow alert," she said, with a lump in her throat. "Whatever they are -- I don't think shields made a difference."

"I'm sure the away team will do a complete investigation. Doctor?"

"She's fine. Not feeling very calm, but fine. Do you want something to help you calm down, Deanna?" Beverly asked.

"Only if it doesn't sedate me or affect my empathy."

Beverly chose a hypo and delivered the payload, and watched Deanna leave with sympathetic eyes. Jean-Luc followed her from sickbay, his hand slipping into the small of her back.

"I wondered if that would happen, but you seemed aware of it and ready to go anyway," he said quietly.

"It was informative. I think we'll have more information once we see what the bridge recorder holds."

"But it wasn't the Romulans. You're sure of that?"

Deanna shuddered, remembering the fire in the veins, the searing pain in the neck and stabs of ice jabbing into her eye sockets. "They didn't die," she said. "They suffered horrible pain, that ebbed within moments. They lost themselves -- but they were alive. Taken, I think. It would take drastic changes in their usual mode of attack for this to have been Romulan -- it feels more alien than I would expect it to, foreign, almost... mechanical."

In the lift, he held her close until the car stopped on deck one. Let her go as the door opened, and followed her out to obtain a status report. Deanna sat next to him and put all her attention on him -- focused on him with determination not to allow herself to tap into the recent past again, and listening to him obtain a report from Will, who was retrieving more records from the computer. They had determined there was no one, alive or dead, left on the station.

While they waited for the away team to join them after beaming back, Jean-Luc turned to her with a grim set to his mouth, and a grimmer, dark sense of foreboding that she shared. "This is going to be bad," he muttered.

"I wonder if there are any Romulans left," she replied __quietly.


	47. Chapter 47

"I was going to object," Tasha said as they sat down in Deanna's office. "I didn't think you should have been asked to go over to the outpost after what happened before."

There was still a yellow alert, and Tasha had taken a break. Deanna had opted to retreat for a while as the continual tension on the bridge was difficult to bear, and she had no immediate duties to perform while there. Deck two was close enough that she could return in a heartbeat if necessary.

"I went willingly. I knew that it might happen." Deanna handed her a cup of tea and sipped her own -- chamomile. "I'm fine. How often do you throw yourself into situations that might kill you?"

"That's different. I'm security."

"As if it's different for any Starfleet officer," Deanna pointed out. "Beverly included."

Tasha stared at her as if she hadn't thought of that at all. Of course, she might not have. Tasha was not necessarily going to -- doctors were less likely to be in the line of fire than captains, or first officers. She looked down at the floor, in terrible dismay all of a sudden.

"Tasha?"

"I didn't think about it, but you're right."

Deanna pressed her lips together and waited while her friend mulled it over. "Tasha, she's fine. She's an experienced officer."

"I just can't believe I didn't -- you have to help me with this," Tasha exclaimed. "Now I can't stop thinking about it."

"Slow the breathing, and start to remember how long she's been in Starfleet. Longer than you."

"I always told myself I'd never do more than casual with someone," Tasha said in a rush of anxious confession.

"And yet you did it anyway. I also told myself I would do things differently. Focus on career for the next decade. I have plenty of time for family and children. Things were a little different than I wanted them to be, despite that goal."

"Can we -- have another one of those holodeck shopping trips?" she asked haltingly. "It would be a good distraction from... well, everything. We're going to the next outpost after the last team beams back from this one, and until we get there tomorrow it'll probably be relatively quiet, especially if you're right and the Romulans have been affected as well."

"Okay. I could use that as well. I think I'll visit the bridge for a while, and then we can go at the end of alpha shift. What are we shopping for this time?"

Tasha blushed quite prettily. "How about clothing I can wear on a date?"

"All right. It sounds like fun. We could also bring up a stylist, work on our hair."

The annunciator unexpectedly cut the conversation short; Deanna was surprised to find it was Randi, and let her in, curious as to why the lieutenant would be looking for her. She would have guessed that Randi, like most of sciences, was busy with the ancient Earth vessel they had brought aboard.

"I'll see you later, Dee," Tasha said, giving Randi a tentative smile as she edged past her out the door when the lieutenant came in. 

"Hi, what's up? Have a seat," Deanna said. "Want something to drink? I was about to get another cup of tea."

Randi took two steps and perched on the end of the sofa uncomfortably. "Nothing for me, thanks. I hope I wasn't interrupting."

"No, Tasha and I are friends. She was on a break - she had to get back to the bridge anyway. What can I do for you?"

Randi was embarrassed. It showed in the way she hardly looked at Deanna. "I decided I needed to talk to you about something. Before I start I want you to know I have really, honestly tried to talk to him about it. And I know what you're about to say," she added when Deanna started to protest. "But you treat me like a friend, and I'm here on that basis, woman to woman, not as a client, so don't start. I can't talk to Michetti. I tried."

It was concerning that officers kept saying that. First Jean-Luc, who she had suspected had a bias and a general opposition to talking about feelings with someone he didn't know in the first place. But then Tasha had been the same, Beverly had commented that she wondered if Alia were really so approachable, and now Randi? Deanna frowned. Tempted as she was to ask, she stuck to the topic Randi had brought up.

"What do you want to talk about, then?"

"I think Will isn't being completely honest with me."

Deanna was perplexed by this. "He isn't?"

"I'm not sure he's being honest with himself either, to be fair." Randi gestured at her. "I think you might understand what I mean. You can sense how he feels, yes?"

"Of course. But I haven't sensed anything that would explain what you're saying. What do you think he's not being honest about?"

"I think he still has feelings for you."

Deanna wasn't surprised. "We're friends. We work together quite a bit. I've not sensed anything more than friendship in months. He knows how I felt about Jean-Luc, and while I can't say he always felt as he does now, there's nothing that bothers me."

Randi actually blushed -- faint pink colored her cheeks, and distress filled her eyes. "Oh." She blinked, and looked down at her fingers, which lay in her lap. "Now I don't know how to feel. Horrible, really. I'm pretty horrible. I guess I've been reading too much into -- probably because I know you were engaged, before, and it would make sense...."

"No, you're trying to protect yourself. I understand," Deanna said softly. "If only because I've done the same thing. Suspected things that were not true. It's terribly easy to do when you sense feelings and don't know why the person is feeling that way. I also know that no man is able to shut down attraction he feels for women, even when he's attached to one, but a good man ignores those feelings and keeps his attention where it belongs."

"And you're going to tell me that is what Will is doing," Randi said with bitterness.

"No, I'm going to say that I haven't been paying that much attention. I have a job here, and a husband, after all. I have my focus on how he's feeling, most of the time, particularly when he needs my support. This is a very tense situation. He's been very focused on that and so I have been as well, because it's my job to help him with it."

"I know we're going to confront the Romulans any time, but down in sciences we're having a good time taking apart that ship. We have the four remaining pods ready to be disconnected -- I think Carol said she expects the thawing should be done by morning."

Deanna blinked. That wasn't what she'd expected. "I thought we were waiting until the current investigation of the outposts was completed to open the pods."

"It's a matter of safety for the people in them. The systems were already degraded by time and being tossed around through space by ion storms and other phenomena. When we subjected the vessel to the gravity of the cargo bay, it started to fall apart. We need to get them out and into sickbay before the pods fail."

"I should be there when they wake up," Deanna said wearily. "It's not going to be easy to adjust to being several hundred years in the future."

Randi finally smiled a little. "I imagine not. And I hadn't thought about that -- guess that's why I'm in science, not counseling. Deanna... Maybe I shouldn't ask, but it's been killing me, I keep thinking -- why didn't it work out with you and Will?"

It startled her that Randi was doing this, but it wasn't unusual for someone to vacillate between topics when attempting to deal with strong feelings. Deanna thought about the question from Randi's perspective, shrugging a little, uncomfortable with being asked about her own past. "I suppose for the reasons these sorts of relationships fail -- there's usually a failure on the part of one or both of the couple, in communicating, or understanding, or in emotional availability.... I was an immature and selfish person for a number of years. I tried too hard to get my mother's approval, and having a mentally ill parent isn't going to give you advantages in sorting out relationship issues. I loved him, and I know that he loved me. But I know that it takes more than that to have a solid relationship with someone."

"It takes trust, I know, that's all Will and I seem to talk about -- I was engaged four years ago to a man I thought was the most honest and trustworthy person in Starfleet. I can't even describe the depths of the agony of finding him with my former best friend. Losing the two of them at once nearly killed me."

Echoes of the loss were strong in her. Deanna shook her head, remembering her own agony. "And it changed you in many ways. Some for the better. I'm sure that Will also changed -- it was why we didn't simply jump back in together, when he came aboard. He hesitated and I had the time to recognize that both of us are different people. I think we're better people."

Randi was becoming more uncomfortable, almost dismayed; she glanced away at the lamp on the end table, and turned to look Deanna in the eye intently. "I wish I could say the same."

"What was it that drew you to him and keeps you there?"

"I -- guess, that his smile had a lot to do with it. He likes to laugh. He enjoys -- things that I enjoy, and -- "

"He's a very sensual person. Sometimes people connect that way and it can feel so solid and rewarding that everything else seems trivial. The problem with that is that everything else is important too."

Randi's bright grin was wonderful. She laughed a little, and then tilted her head, nodding, as she thought of something else that amused her.

"Randi?"

"If you and he hit it off so well he thought about marrying you in spite of his obsessive focus on career it would follow that you're just as sensual, which sets up all kinds of interesting theories about your husband. Of course, anyone who meets him could see it, under that formal demeanor of his, for all that tightly-wound control he's just that delicious."

Deanna laughed out loud at that -- it caught her off guard. Randi laughed with her for a bit. "I'm sorry, I suppose I didn't expect you to notice."

"I guess he thinks if he's so busy being captain we won't notice him?"

"He doesn't think about that at all. He thinks about the job."

"Will says -- " Randi hesitated. "I wonder if all officers who want to be starship captains are so focused?"

"They can be. They can also change."

Randi hesitated for a few long seconds, looking at her thoughtfully, debating internally. "I'm curious but not sure if I should ask. But I wonder if Jean-Luc has changed his focus."

"Perhaps added to it."

"Will was surprised that he seemed to be getting along with the Stanton boy so well. He said the captain had delegated the civilian crew to him."

"Change," Deanna said with a shrug. "He's better about children."

"I should be going -- I need to go work on an apology to Will."

Deanna pressed her lips together and kept her opinion to herself. She smiled at Randi, and said, "When this situation is over, why don't we have lunch together?"

"I would like that. So I'll probably see you in the morning, when we decant the frozen ones? I can make sure you're paged before the pods are cracked."

"Yes. Thank you."

After Randi left her office, Deanna took a brief inventory of her feelings, of Jean-Luc's, and recycled the tea cups before heading out to visit the bridge. 

Most of the senior staff were present, save Beverly. She quietly took her seat on Jean-Luc's left, glancing at Will, at the captain, and turning to Data as the android spoke.

"No life signs, and there appears to be significant damage -- the starbase has no atmosphere left. Breaches on multiple levels and debris surrounding the station. I am detecting ion trails departing in several directions."

"Run a series of scans of the area, and when you're done we'll move on to the next outpost," the captain said. He turned to look at Deanna. "Do you sense anything out of the ordinary?"

"You mean a cloaked vessel, or anything about the attack," she said. "I can tell a lot of people died here. It doesn't seem to be the same -- they weren't capturing people."

"Mr. Data, is there a way to compare the damage done to the last outpost to this one, to determine whether the same assailant attacked here?" Will asked.

"Yes, sir," Data said without turning around. He worked swiftly as always at the console. "Analysis complete -- the energy signature here is the same. The weapons used at the other outpost were used here. Still inconsistent with what we know about Romulan weapons."

"If we're done with the scans, move on," Jean-Luc said.

Data gave McKay a course correction that would send the ship to the next outpost. Will set their speed at warp eight once more.

"We'll arrive in two hours, sir," McKay announced.

"Why take some people alive and kill the rest?" Jean-Luc mused aloud.

"Was there any difference in the outposts? One more focused on research of some sort than the others?" Deanna asked.

"Not according to anything I've read," Will exclaimed. "A top secret project?"

"No, I'm afraid these were Starfleet's due diligence, keeping us aware of any activity along the Neutral Zone and keeping the Romulans aware that we were watching them." Jean-Luc sat back and watched the stars flying by on the main viewer, deep in thought. "This isn't any alien species we've ever encountered before. It's got to be some species from the unexplored reaches of the Beta Quadrant."

"It may be that this could do what diplomacy could not," Deanna said. "A common foe could create the need for support against total annihilation."

"You think we can negotiate a treaty of some sort out of this situation?" Will asked.

"Isn't that what the Federation wants?"

"We are always interested in peace, however, I'm not certain the Romulans would consider it. Have you ever heard of them negotiating a treaty with anyone?" Will said.

"If we are to extrapolate from our long history with Vulcan culture, it seems likely that the Romulans would be more reticent to ally themselves with anyone. It was a long process convincing Vulcans that humans belonged in space, remember." Jean-Luc rested his finger across his upper lip in that thoughtful pose he would take sometimes.

"Desperation makes odd bedfellows," Deanna commented.

For some reason, Will smirked at that. She decided to ignore it. Jean-Luc glanced askance at her as he picked up on her mild annoyance.

"If you don't mind, Captain, I have things to do -- if I'm not needed here, may I be excused?" she asked.

"Of course, Counselor."

She left the bridge with a look at Tasha on the way by tactical into the lift. Once back in her quarters, Deanna took the beaded band from her hair, sat at the table where they ate their meals together, and rubbed her brows with the tips of her fingers. When that didn't provide sufficient relief, she moved into the bedroom and took out her yoga mat from the bottom of the closet.

She was seated cross-legged on the mat in the middle of the bedroom, meditating, when Jean-Luc arrived. "Feeling better?" he asked, as she opened her eyes and looked up at him.

"Much." She held up a hand, which he took and helped her to her feet. "I don't think the crew has been this tense in months."

"It helped me as well. A nice fringe benefit. We arrived at the third outpost and we're on our way to the next -- it's becoming monotonous. No survivors." He watched her stretch with a smile. "You have successfully obtained my interest in yoga."

"Watching me do it, you mean? I have appropriate clothing for class, but I thought that here in the bedroom I could do without. You have favorite poses, I guess?" She put her arms around his neck and kissed him.

"Hmm, this one is quite nice," he murmured, putting his hands on her hips.

"I'm going to the holodeck with Tasha in a minute."

"What? That's not fair -- you can't tease me and then go somewhere else," he exclaimed, sounding outraged but not really being upset about it.

"Yes, well, I'm helping her shop for new outfits. I might be looking for a few for myself, you know. As much as you like it when I wear those little frilly things you enjoy tearing off me, you'll probably benefit as well."

"I look forward to it."

He let her get dressed, though he stayed to watch. She left their quarters in her gray pantsuit and headed for the holodecks, and Tasha joined her on the way to the lift, emerging from the suite she now shared with Beverly. She too had changed out of her duty attire, wore instead a short-sleeved white blouse and slacks. 

"Holodeck two," she told the computer as they entered the lift car. "I sort of thought you'd decide to stay home with your husband."

"I promised him I'd show him some of the things I would replicate when I got home. These shopping trips benefit him as well, you know."

Tasha grinned -- for all of two seconds, then the lift reversed course abruptly and returned to deck eight, the doors opened, and Will stepped in. Before either of them could react, Will picked up Deanna in his arms and kissed her, then dropped her again.

"What are you doing?" She gave him a shove. The doors opened when he staggered back.

"Thank you," he exclaimed. "Thank you!" He waved his hands at her, then spun and departed the lift at a job. 

"You're welcome, idiot," she called after him as the doors slid shut again.

"What the hell was that about?" Tasha was giving her a wide-eyed look tempered by a smile.

"Never mind. Computer, take us to holodeck two."

 

* * *

 

 

Jean-Luc tried to engross himself in the book he'd been struggling to finish for a while, one of the classic mystery novels of the twenty-second century, but his mind would return to the odd energy signatures from the wreckage of the outposts, or to imagining what Deanna would come home with to entertain him. It was almost an even match between the two, fighting for his attention. 

When the chime went off, he clapped the book shut and thought about Deanna, which was sufficient to make him more aware of her -- she was in a good mood, as she typically was when engaged in some frivolous fun with one of her few friends. "Come in," he said, watching the doors open.

"Hi Captain," Wesley said, coming in to stand before him. 

"Wesley, have a seat. What can I do for you?" 

Wes sat on the edge of one of the two chairs facing each other across the coffee table. "I wanted to ask your advice about something."

Jean-Luc leaned to drop the book on the table, and sat back, crossing his legs. "All right."

"I wanted to see if you thought I should consider doing something other than Starfleet."

It gave him pause. The easy answer was encouragement, but something about Wesley's serious demeanor made him think that something else might be afoot. "It sounds like you might be questioning something -- I'm not sure if you are thinking you might not be up to the task, or if you are finding some other option more appealing."

"I guess I never really thought about anything else. There's college, I guess. Or maybe some specific training in something but I don't even know where to start." Wes shrugged, falling back to slump in the chair. "My parents have never talked about anything but Starfleet with me. But one of the kids in school told the teacher that he wanted to be a teacher -- that he never wanted to be in Starfleet because it was scary. And I heard my mom and Tasha talking about -- " The boy stopped and seemed unable to continue.

"Starfleet officers are frequently in harm's way, and the current mission is a classic example. Is that what you're debating, whether or not you are up to taking risks?"

Wes shrugged, his expression pained. "I just think about dad. What you told me about him. How he died."

There was perhaps some sense to this -- the poor boy had a chief medical officer and a chief security officer and all their accumulated experiences with loss to think about, in addition to his own father's death to deal with. "It's true that losing friends is difficult. But it doesn't make Starfleet any less worthwhile, losses happen in life. Whether it's in battle, in space, or due to some accident back on Earth -- there are still many ways that people die, Wes. And people who fear death to the point that they try to protect themselves from all risks end up hardly living a life at all."

Wes rubbed his face dramatically with both hands. "Like those people in the pods?"

It was perhaps a testament to the efficiency of the rumor mill on the ship. "Wes...."

"Mom was researching heart conditions, emphysema, and some other thing no one has any more -- I asked her why. She said maybe I should help do some research, it's like a history project." Wes shrugged. "They were all frozen after they died, because they wanted to be revived some day."

"Do you want to be in Starfleet?"

Wes screwed up his face and looked at him. "I don't know. I like talking to the engineers. I like working with models of engines. But -- I don't know about the rest."

"Perhaps you should start by developing a better understanding of all the different departments in Starfleet. There are plenty of engineers who never leave the shipyards, or Earth."

The boy gaped for a few seconds. "I guess there would have to be. Yeah. Thanks, Captain."

"Have you talked to your mother about any of this?"

"No, I didn't want to disappoint her. She really wants me to be in Starfleet."

Jean-Luc studied the younger Crusher and tried to remember being this way, and failed. "Wesley, you should talk to her about your concerns."

"Um. I don't know...."

"Did she tell you she's assuming you should be in Starfleet, or are you thinking her encouragement is approval, or expectation?"

Another moment of open-mouthed consideration. "Oh. I guess... Okay."

"You should do whatever you feel most passionate about. Follow your focus. That doesn't rule out Starfleet, but it doesn't have to be Starfleet either, though it's likely you would be a considerable asset to the Engineering division."

"Thanks." Wes was smiling again. "That really helps, sir. Thanks for listening." The boy jumped up and ran out -- not exactly a respectful good bye but he seemed to have gotten what he was looking for.

Jean-Luc picked up his book again but the door opened, and Deanna returned, smiling at him as she sidled toward the replicator. "Are you ready for dinner? I am."

"Yes, I'm glad you're back. Your shopping trip was fruitful?"

Her smile turned canny as she picked up a plate and glass. "Oh, yes. I'll show you dessert after we eat."

"I like the way you think."

When they were seated together with salads, he thought about earlier and asked, "So what was it that upset you so much after you left?"

Her fork hovered in front of her as she looked up in dismay. "Well... Randi came to see me earlier in the day. She told me she thought Will still had feelings for me, and asked me to confirm it. I told her the truth, which made her very happy, and then when I left to go to the holodeck, Will diverted the lift and stepped in and kissed me, then thanked me."

"Oh. So he doesn't have feelings for you?"

Deanna scowled, but without real venom; she knew he was teasing. "Not the kind she was imagining. Not for months."

Jean-Luc gazed at her as he chewed, thinking about how he'd worried for a while that she might get tired of him, or some other man might turn her head. The thought seemed ridiculous now. She had tolerated all his moods for months, and he had learned to weather hers -- there were still moments of anxiety, when something she felt confused or alarmed him, but he tried to do the same for her that she always did for him -- let her handle it, leave it be. 

"I still have feelings for you," he said, just to be funny.

She gave him that look of fond forebearance he expected to get. "Thank you for the reassurance. I'll cancel the divorce."

"Wonderful, I'll leave the portrait on the wall then." He glanced at the framed picture from the wedding -- Wes had taken many shots, and this one had been one of the best -- a candid one of them walking outside in the yard on the grass, in front of a rose arbor. They were standing hand in hand, both looking down at the ground between them but with matching happy expressions and Deanna's hair down over her left shoulder. He liked it more than the formally posed ones. 

"I look forward to seeing it supplanted by a portrait of the three of us with our first child," she said unexpectedly. With the words came a rising spiral of joy, that froze him in place for a moment. He turned to look in her eyes, and they forgot dinner for a while. 

"Bridge to Captain Picard," came the near-growl of Worf initiating contact. "There is an incoming transmission for you. Admiral Quinn."

Deanna stood up and headed into the bedroom without hesitation. Jean-Luc put down his fork, swallowed the last mouthful, and said, "Put him through to my quarters. Audio only. Thank you, Mr. Worf."

"Jean-Luc," Quinn exclaimed. "I received your last report. Has there been any further development since?"

The report had been sent after the second outpost. He planned to send another when they had information on the fourth one. "There's still no sign of the Romulans. All the outposts so far have been destroyed by the same weapons, judging from the energy signatures."

"The same weapons that do not match what we have on record as being Romulan weapons," Greg Quinn said.

"We're on our way to the fourth outpost. There's been no sign of survivors -- though some might have escaped in shuttles, we've found none of those either. Nor any debris to indicate they were destroyed." Jean-Luc knew from what Deanna was feeling that she was up to something, and wished the admiral would give up and terminate the discussion.

"You know we need -- "

" -- more information, yes. We're collecting as much as we can, and once we're finished at the starbases, we'll be sweeping more broadly through the area searching for any signs of the aliens, or of the shuttles."

"Thank you, Jean-Luc. Keep us informed. Quinn, out."

He left the mostly-eaten salad on the table and hurried into the bedroom, starting to remove pips and tug off his shirt. He stopped just inside the door at the sight of her standing in front of the full-length mirror wearing a filmy white peignoir over a jade green bikini, studying her reflection with her hand on her right hip, pivoting to look over her shoulder at herself.

"I'm not sure I like it," she said, turning to face the mirror again. "What do you think?"

His hands went to her hips and he slowly tugged the peignoir upward an inch at a time. "I like it fine."

"Mmm," she commented, backing against him. "I like that you're finally paying attention to me."

"I've been able to establish a war with the Romulans is not necessarily imminent. The longer we don't see them, the safer I feel."

"You appear to have a problem with your pants. Let me check." Deanna turned and worked open the fly of his uniform, and slipped a confident hand in to run it up his erect penis. "Oh, that could be a real issue."

He moved in to kiss her. Within seconds her back was against the mirror, and he ran his hands down her buttocks then pushed her against the mirror, lifting. She moaned into his mouth and wound her arms around his neck, using his shoulders to balance herself better while he pried at her panties with his left hand and she started to raise her foot and run her thigh up his leg.

The damned computer chimed. Such a deflating sound. He pulled back and looked her in the eyes, and she knew who it was. "I'm going to put a short in the panel -- every time someone touches it they'll get shocked," he grumbled. Her feet hit the floor when he dropped her, and he fastened his fly as he went out to talk to Beverly.

When the door opened Beverly flew in and landed with her arms around him. He froze in place, unable to parse what this could be about. As she pulled away, she began swiping at her face with her fingers, and he started to panic -- then he noticed she was actually smiling. Deanna was amused, not dismayed, which in addition to the smile was a good indicator this was not tragedy.

"Thank you," Beverly blurted, starting to cry some more.

"You're welcome?"

She kept wiping her cheeks with the long sleeve of her lab coat. "I had no idea Wes didn't want to be an officer on a starship any longer! All this time I've been encouraging him and biting my tongue, and trying not to show any anxiety about it, because I thought that's what he wanted -- it's such a relief that he's now looking at research and development! Thank you so much for being willing to take him under your wing. I don't know if he would have ever told me!"

"Oh, well, all I did -- all I did was ask a few questions. It wasn't a big deal."

"Jean-Luc," she cried, shaking her head. "You just wait. Wait until you have a child who turns into an immature adult with big ideas. I'm so relieved to know he won't be on the front lines of anything, getting himself shot. Good night." She whirled and departed, her coat flying behind her.

When he went back in the bedroom, Deanna was sitting on the end of the bed waiting for him. She watched him approach with a sober expression.

"I talked to Wes earlier and he is questioning his future career. All I did was ask a couple of questions and bring up other possibilities. It sounds like he went home and told Beverly he'd rather be in research, and that made her very happy."

"She's a mother," Deanna said, as if that explained everything. "The safety of your child, no matter what age either of you may be, is always a concern. Why wouldn't she be concerned when she's the one who puts the injured back together again?"

He sat down next to her. "Why wouldn't he tell her what he really wanted to do? He came to me instead."

Deanna smirked at him as if he'd ignored the answer right in front of him.

"I know why I didn't talk to mine -- my father's only acceptable answer for what I wanted to do was to work with him at the winery, anything else made him angry."

"You might have assumed it would. Sometimes people surprise us." 

He smiled faintly, looking at her, letting her take his hand and lean to kiss his cheek. "I've surprised myself, with how things have been changing for me. I would have sent him home immediately, just a year ago." And he might have been sunk into a mood at the present time -- he was noticing, as time passed, that his moods were becoming less intractable. As if her moods were influencing his, and vice versa. He would be hard put to discern which of them influenced the other more. 

Deanna leaned against him and he put his arm around her and sat with her as they thought about things. She was aware that the mood had changed, and not upset by it -- when his thoughts came back around to what Beverly had interrupted, her smile grew and her fingers tightened around his. 

"I don't suppose we still have some of that oil we got while we were on Toriban?" he asked.

"If you take the uniform off, I'll get it." She returned from the bathroom with the small bottle to find him standing naked, waiting for her. "Nice salute," she said, strolling toward him with a sway of the hips and a happy grin.

He hesitated -- but the chime didn't go off, and no red alert was announced. She waggled the bottle at him and kept grinning, slowly coming forward to press her scantily-clad body against him and nudge him backward toward the bed.

"Shall I apply this without using my hands?" she whispered.

"I believe it's worth a try."


	48. Chapter 48

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the Neutral Zone. B plot. Three people come out of a centuries long sleep. 
> 
> Why does the counselor come into play so late in the game? Why are the awakened people afforded unrestricted access to everything on the ship? 
> 
> Why are such things so obvious to everyone but the people writing episodes?

Jean-Luc awakened abruptly, sat up, and caught Deanna's arm. Just as quickly he let go -- she was thrashing, crying, whimpering, and her arm striking him had been what woke him at last. He'd been having a tense, fear-filled nightmare, and now it was obvious they had been dreaming together.

"Dee," he exclaimed. "Deanna, wake up!"

She did, finally, with a scream -- she sat up with a flail of the arms, and he reached over and put a tentative hand on her shoulder in an attempt to steady her.

"Deanna?"

She stared at him as if she had no idea who he was. Her arms came up and she hugged herself.

Jean-Luc waited, hoping the nausea in the pit of his own stomach would settle.

The shock was passing, and now her face crumpled into distress. She drew up her knees, bunching the covers in her lap, and looked around the room, up at the viewports overhead, and then she winced.

"It was just a dream," he murmured. "We're all right."

She made an indistinct, plaintive sound. He had to catch her, as she moved toward him and shoved herself into his arms. He held her tightly, partially wrapped in the covers and waited anxiously. It wasn't like her to be this upset by a dream.

"It wasn't just a dream," she said at last, in a soft, small voice.

"What was it?"

"It was the same as what I sensed at the first outpost. It was people being -- burned, twisted, submerged. There's no word for it. It's terrible."

"Was it something that happened, and you sensed it? Was it a memory turned nightmare?" She was right -- the sensations were incredibly painful, and his head still ached a little as a result.

"I don't know."

Probably code for 'I don't want it to be real so I'd rather not know.' He swung his legs off the bed, letting her go to fetch a glass of water and an analgesic from the replicator in the other room. The time on the digital readout of the replicator showed clearly that they still had four hours to go until it was time for breakfast.

She was reclining in the bed again, as he returned to pass her the hypospray and drink his water as she took a dose. They were both naked, and though the lights were still off, the starlight illuminated her as she lay there half-tangled in the sheet, her hair spilling down her shoulder. It was not the first time he'd seen her in such a state, but most of the time she'd been asleep when he took a moment to appreciate her this way. This time, his appreciation of her had the desirable side effect of distracting her from the dream, or whatever it was.

"Are you coming back to bed?" she asked, smiling a little. Promising, that. She still felt jagged and anxious, but not as overwhelmed.

"Of course. Want some water?"

"I want you to come back and keep me warm."

He set the glass on his table and got back in bed. She was still naked, as he was, and he lay on his back and helped her rearrange the sheet while she found a comfortable way to drape herself over him.

"Better?"

"Can we think about something pleasant?" Doing something passionate was likely beyond him at the moment. Pleasant would have to do. She was being reasonable.

"Hmm." He thought about the wedding, and then the honeymoon, especially watching her swim in the deep blue waters of the cove near their rented bungalow. She relaxed enough to doze, and left him drowsily remembering her in the wedding gown, dancing a waltz with him in the sunroom.

He awakened again -- with a jolt and a yell, and an armful of thrashing Betazoid. Panting, he tried to catch his breath and shake off the fear, slow his heart rate, and turned to look at Deanna.

She lay on her back, trying to calm herself as well -- her hands over her eyes, with an occasional hitch in her breathing that suggested she was trying not to sob.

"It was fine until I fell asleep," he commented.

She moaned.

"What do you suggest? Maybe sickbay has a sedative that would keep you from having the nightmares?"

Another moan. He rolled toward her, pulling her into his arms. It seemed to help her settle down; she stopped trembling after a moment.

"It helps when I hold you," he murmured.

"I can't sleep. I fall right back into it."

"You were asleep for a while before I fell asleep, without dreaming."

Deanna sat up, frowning. "I have a headache again. I'm going to sickbay. I'll be no good at all tomorrow if I can't sleep."

"Want me to come with you?" He watched her slide out of bed and walk around it toward the closet.

"You need sleep as much as I do. But I think you'll be able to get it if I can only stop having nightmares. You don't have to come with me."

She returned some time later, pulling off the pants and shirt she'd thrown on and dropping them on the floor at the end of the bed. Climbing up from the end, she collapsed on the covers next to him.

"Did they give you anything?"

"A sedative that affects the neurochemistry of a Betazoid brain, to diminish telepathic ability. It's also making me very drowsy. Dr. Selar wasn't certain it would affect empathy but it was the best she could do without extensive research. She said she would talk to Beverly in the morning and they would do more research if it isn't working."

"Good."

Two rude awakenings later, it was time for breakfast. The pattern held true; when he was awake she slept well, when he fell asleep she would have a nightmare. The alarm woke them both the next time, abruptly. Sitting up, her hair in disarray, squinting and frowning, she looked like she either wanted to cry or kill something, possibly both. She shoved herself out of bed, muttered a few choice words and staggered for the bathroom. After she emerged looking merely cranky instead of murderous, he ventured in to take his own shower, dressed swiftly, and joined her in the living room. She was at the table with a cup of something and no food.

"I want you to try something," he said, sitting down with his cup of coffee. "Come to the bridge and try to sleep in my ready room on the sofa. If you can sleep while I'm awake on the bridge, that might be useful information for sickbay."

She still looked as angry as she felt. But she nodded, sipping. "It's worth a try. I'll reschedule a couple of appointments, I would be too out of sorts to be effective anyway." She studied him over the rim of her cup, then smiled wearily. "Thank you."

"We'll figure this out. I like sleeping with you and having better dreams together."

That brought the smile into her eyes. "Maybe I should go back to sickbay first thing -- they might want to put a cortical monitor on me before I go back to sleep."

"Good idea."

 

* * *

 

Deanna came awake slowly, groaning, almost sliding off the ready room sofa in her disorientation. "Computer, time."

"The time is now nine hundred twenty-two hours."

At least she wasn't feeling like death warmed over any longer. "Computer, one cup of coffee, black, with a plain croissant."

While she was in the replicator alcove, the ready room door opened, and she smiled at her husband. "You feel better," he said, smiling as he watched her come back with her snack. He sat down with her on the sofa.

"I do. I appreciate that you weren't taking my mood personally," she said, taking a draw on her hot coffee.

"Those were terrible dreams," he said faintly.

"It worked. I'm not sure how you knew it would work, but I slept well enough. How is everything?"

"We're completing a survey of the last outpost -- there are differences. Wreckage, and the away team had to put on environment suits. They found -- something." Something bad, repulsive even, judging from his emotional reaction.

"Are they bringing it back with them?"

"Yes. And, Beverly has those three people from the old vessel in sickbay, sedated until she knows you are available. She's already cured the issues they had."

Deanna was feeling better as she swallowed a second bite of her croissant and took another sip of coffee. "Do you need me to be present to have input on the 'something' or should I finish breakfast and head for sickbay?"

"Go to sickbay. I'll page you if we need you -- I'm sure you'll know if there's a red alert. Probably before I even initiate one." He watched her eat with an understated, fond smile, thinking.

"What do you remember from the dreams?" she asked.

He lost the smile. "Very little of any coherence. You've never been so terrified before."

She debated telling him everything, and decided against it. He was on duty, and she didn't want to be a distraction -- this was the first mission after the wedding and an important one, and he shouldn't spend it focused on her issues. If the question were asked in the context of a staff meeting, she would answer it then. "I hope Dr. Crusher and Dr. Selar can help me stop them."

"I'm hoping so -- let me know."

She stood, was about to lean to pick up the plate and mug but he snatched it away and went to the replicator with them. She waited for him to return, and when he did, he took her by the shoulders and kissed her on the lips. "Come back for lunch? I should stay close to the bridge today."

That told her he hadn't revealed everything. "Okay, I'll see you in a while."

She left the ready room, smiled at Will on her way out through the bridge, who looked up from a padd as he sat in his chair, and went up to the lift. She was alone for the ride to sickbay. Beverly came over to her as she entered, smiling. "Did you get any sleep?"

"I did, but it wasn't as good as a full night." Deanna looked at the people on the biobeds; Ogawa was adjusting settings on one of the beds. None of them were awake.

"We'll get to them soon enough, come on over here," Beverly exclaimed, touching her elbow. She had her lay back on the biobed and removed the cortical monitor, and went about examining what it had to tell her. "I've been consulting your medical records, and Betazoid databases we have for information on your neurobiology. You and your husband are connecting more than I'd expect. It's pretty clear that whatever's going on, he has something to do with why you're able to sleep some of the time -- it's as though his brain has to be active for you to not be sucked into those nightmares."

"I'm not convinced they are nightmares. I think the aliens are close, and they are destroying Romulan outposts. I have no way of confirming or disproving it. But the people I'm sensing, they're more like Vulcans than humans, and the aliens -- they don't correspond with any species I've ever met. They feel wrong."

Beverly turned from the monitors to tilt her head and study her anew. "You didn't talk about this earlier."

"I need more information before I discuss it with the captain. Is this just my anxiety taking the scant information we've had and blowing it out of proportion, or am I actually sensing something that is happening somewhere nearby?"

"Well, I can tell you that the brain activity while you are asleep is resembling what you typically show while you are awake, so far as activity in the paracortex is concerned. Look at this."

They spent a little time examining recorded information from the monitor, and Deanna found that it was true.

"I don't think they were dreams. This area was invaded by the alien force. Whoever this was, they cause terror -- they overwhelm whoever is in their path."

"But you haven't sensed others -- there's been nothing on long range sensors, and in the last meeting he asked you if you'd sensed anything. Surely you don't have an increase in your effective range only when you are asleep?" Beverly gestured, and Deanna slid off the bed and followed her toward the CMO's office.

"I'm sure my range is the same. I wonder, though, if I am picking up faint emotions when there's not enough to occupy my mind."

"We'll have to monitor while you sleep and have a nightmare, I think. Compare the readings to your awake state, and then to the data we gathered this morning. Selar is going to tailor that sedative she used for you to your unique biochemistry with a little help from the University of Betazed and sleep studies they've done." Beverly sat down behind her desk and passed a padd across as Deanna took a seat on the visitor's side. "Have a look."

"I'm not even certain what I'm looking at," Deanna confessed after a moment. "Is this really pertinent?"

"Your brain waves this morning fell into a pattern that most resembles this one study, by Dr. Monam? She was studying insomnia."

"I must be too tired to put the pieces together," Deanna said, defeated after a few moments of study of the indicated information.

Beverly came around her desk, and her demeanor shifted. Sitting next to Deanna in the empty chair, she clasped her hands in her lap and gave her best friendly, reassuring smile. "Deanna, I don't want you to take this the wrong way. But I have to wonder if you're reacting with more adrenaline and less of your usual composure?"

"Maybe we should go wake up the people from those pods. While I have enough energy to help them."

Beverly's blue eyes went sad. "You can do that in a while. I'd like you to let me help you first. I think this theory of the captain's is an important part -- he said you are able to sleep while he's awake. I think he's concerned enough to be willing to let me tranquilize him so we can -- "

"In the middle of everything that's going on?" Deanna exclaimed. "Are you mad?"

Beverly stared at her, straightening up -- she studied the counselor with calculating eyes. "Long range scans show nothing at all. We're examining wreckage -- no vessels in the area other than us. I wouldn't need more than fifteen to twenty minutes to reach some conclusion -- and you know he would do it for any of us."

Deanna stared back at her. "You think I'm unwell. Not thinking clearly."

"I suspect you might be, because you are ordinarily much less befuddled -- and you look tired. And you're resisting self care and treatment, which is more typical of the captain -- I have to wonder if he'll start asking me how I feel?"

That made Deanna smile, just a little. "Always a risk one has to take. People can become concerned about the feelings of those they care about."

"Doctor," came an urgent summons -- they turned to find Ogawa leaning in the open office door. "One of the cryogenic patients is waking up."

"I guess my opinion is effectively moot," Beverly said, rising.

It was the older of the two men -- Ralph Offenhouse, from what they could recover from the computer. A man who had suffered from a heart condition -- he wore a blue coverall, which sickbay staff had put all three patients into once they had been removed from th pods. He sat up suddenly, swaying and blinking and looking around, rubbing at his eyes, and Deanna could tell he was extremely disoriented.

"Mr. Offenhouse," she said, coming forward. "Please lay back on the bed."

To her surprise he obeyed -- then proceeded to stare at her as he went through several shifts of mood. He surprised her by settling into being happy to see her. "Hello, darlin.' What's your name?"

Deanna glanced at the nurse and doctor -- both were startled and gazing at her in dismay -- and smiled at the man. "Lieutenant-Commander Deanna Picard. I'm the -- I'm a counselor. You've been in cryogenic sleep for a very long time, and I'm here to help you adjust to that."

It took a moment for him to sort that out. "Lieutenant-Commander," he echoed. "Of the Army?"

Deanna kept smiling, resolved to not be caught off guard no matter what. "No. The United States Army does not exist at this time."

That brought him back up from the bed, upright, looking around him. "This is a hospital in New York. Isn't it? I was supposed to be in New York when they brought me back. I had it all arranged, best hospital, best care available."

"Doctor, is he able to leave the biobed?" Deanna asked.

"Yes. He seems stable -- I believe the first officer designated quarters for them already," Beverly said. "We'll let you know if the other two awaken. We're letting them come out of the sedation on their own at this point."

"Come with me, Mr. Offenhouse," Deanna said, gesturing at the door. "I'll show you to your quarters. Explain more about where you are, and why."

He came off the bed eagerly and shook himself a little, stretching his arms over his head. "Man. I haven't felt this good in years! I don't suppose you have any of my clothes handy? I left instructions, my people were supposed to have some of my things close to hand."

"This way," Deanna said smoothly. She turned herself and led the way out, and he scurried after her.

"You said it's been a long time. Just how long are we talkin', darlin'?"

"When were you placed in the cryogenic pod?" she asked, walking along toward the lift. Two lieutenants were strolling in the other direction; there was a brief moment of distraction as he goggled at them as they passed.

"Um, think it was May, or June, in twenty sixty-two or so."

Deanna kept smiling serenely, already aware of this and having an answer he would understand at the ready. "We are currently in the year two thousand three hundred sixty four, and so it's been about three hundred and two years, give or take a month."

The predictable shock hit him like a kick to the face. He actually stumbled -- backed a few steps until he ran into the wall. She stopped walking and clasped her hands in front of her, in the folds of the skirt of her green dress.

"I understand how difficult it's going to be to accept this," she said at last. "Everything you knew is gone, Mr. Offenhouse. You are currently standing on deck nine of the starship USS _Enterprise_ and we are at least four weeks' travel from the planet Earth. Your pod was placed on a small vessel and launched into space several years after you went into cryogenic sleep. We found you and two other survivors on that vessel while exploring the area. Your money, your accounts, your family, everything you had, is in the distant past. I don't see how I could make this any less shocking to you. I'm sorry."

"You mean to tell me," he began, starting to become angry. One of his hands came up and he jabbed his finger in midair at her. "You're tellin' me, I've lost everything. I'm on a -- space ship. Hooo, boy, this is -- " Both of his hands went to his head and he turned in place a full revolution. "Miss -- sorry, I'm not -- Look, Lieutenant, I'm just not sure I can believe all this. John and the boys are about to bust through a door laughing, any minute, aren't they? This is one of those movie sets! A setup!"

"No, I'm sorry. It is not." Deanna took the last few steps and the turbolift opened. She stepped inside and turned to face front. As she'd hoped he followed tentatively. After the door closed, she began the first of many lessons. "Our ship is operated by a computer that understands voice commands. Your access to features and locations will be restricted, as you're a guest and not a member of Starfleet. Computer, take us to the quarters of Ralph Offenhouse."

The lift went into motion smoothly. He gaped at the blinking red light showing their movement, up then over then up, and then the doors opened and the panel on the right lit up to show the way.

"We follow the indicator on the right, to the correct quarters," she said, gesturing as she left the lift. He was silent past four doors and then she turned at the end of the indicators into cabin four, section two, deck seven. The small suite was clean and functional. She bore left first, to stop in front of the replicator. "This is a replicator. You can use the panel to find clothing that will be replicated for you in the correct size. You can ask for any food or beverage you like. You can ask for small items -- anything larger than the slot you will need to request from a larger replicator in a different deck. Computer, one cup of Tarkalian tea, hot."

The cup of steaming hot tea materialized. She picked it up and turned to offer it to him.

"I'm a coffee kinda guy, hon," he said, holding up both hands.

"With cream and sugar?"

"Straight black, hot, strong," he corrected. The computer made the assumption and the coffee appeared. She stepped back and indicated he should get it. He gave it a try, tentatively sipping, and then harrumphed. "Computer, gimme a pastrami sandwich, all the trimmins' on a hoagie roll with a side of crispy onion rings."

The plate of food materialized in a swirl of atoms. He stared at it with no small amount of shock, new surprise layered over more of the same, but she could sense that it was settling in. Reality had started to sink in. He took the plate out of the slot and turned to plop it on the dining table.

"Computer, is there any information on Ralph Offenhouse, a financier from the late twentieth century?" she asked, knowing what the computer would say already.

"Ralph Offenhouse, born August 2, 2007 to Rosa and Martin Offenhouse. Graduated from Stanford in 2023. Married to Nora Monroe, 2025. Divorced, 2029. Two children, Sarah and Michael. Mr. Offenhouse had a long career at Union Bank, and was eventually promoted to Vice President of the institution in 2061, then deceased in 2062 at which time he was placed in cryogenic deep sleep by Nova Industries."

Offenhouse stood stock still as the pleasant feminine voice of the computer explained this. "Computer," he began, then shot a look at her. When she didn't respond, he went on. "What happened to Nova Industries?"

"Nova Industries went bankrupt in 2065 following the end of Wall Street. After Earth's declaration of unity and the adoption of a single monetary unit, financial speculation and stock market economies were terminated."

Offenhouse's bloodshot brown eyes rested on Deanna's face for a moment, then he looked around again, lingering on different areas of the room especially the viewports overhead and eventually returning to the replicator. Deanna waited patiently, tracking the shifts from disbelief to belief, back to shock, around to sadness, anger, frustration, disbelief.... He was working through it the best he could. 

He surprised her with his next words. "Computer, a pair of red argyle socks." He snatched the socks out of the slot. Dropped them on the floor. "Computer, gimme a martini on the rocks, no olive." He watched the martini glass appear. Turned to her once again. "So this is real."

"I am from a planet called Betazed," she told him softly. "Although my father was from Earth."

That won her more shock and a raised eyebrow. "You don't look alien to me!"

"Many aliens are humanoid, and some can breed with humans. Betazoids like humans quite a lot." She gestured at the viewports. "These stars are very different than the ones you saw from New York."

"A pretty little thing like you, an alien! Aliens should be like bugs, or something," Offenhouse exclaimed. "Like in the movies."

"You're referring to old fiction, I suppose. There are those who are like bugs, or something. You'll be able to meet some of them if you happen to be in Ten Forward while they're on breaks." Deanna smiled politely, concealing her concern at the sudden upwelling of anxiety she received from Jean-Luc. "Mr. Offenhouse, I mentioned before that you can access only certain parts of the ship. Ten Forward is a lounge and restaurant -- you can socialize with people there. You can also access the gymnasium and the holodecks. The computer can show you the way. But it will not allow you access to engineering, or the bridge, while you are unaccompanied by an officer. Feel free to ask the computer for information -- it will not be able to tell you everything you want to know, nor will it give you anything classified, but you can begin to understand current events and ask it for information about the United Federation of Planets, which is where you will be living when we return you to Earth. The old country designations are mere tradition at this point rather than official boundaries. You'll be able to visit Paris, London, New York -- see all the places you remember as they are now. It's all very different. If you want a preview, go to the holodeck and ask the computer for a simulation of the city of your choice."

"I thought you were here to help me adjust," he complained as she started to turn toward the door.

"And you have started to do that, haven't you?" She smiled again at him. "I have other duties. I'll be back later to check in with you. You'll have plenty of time -- we aren't going to be able to take you to the nearest starbase until the conclusion of this mission. In the meantime, you can replicate what you need, listen to music -- if you want to read books there are many available in digital format, simply ask the computer to transfer it to the padd on the table over there so you can read it. Or have the computer play an audio version of the book. Many choices are available."

"So you'll come back for a visit," he said with a pleased smile.

"I might bring the captain of the _Enterprise_ to meet you -- if he has the time. We're on an important mission. I'll see you later, Mr. Offenhouse."

This time he let her go without protest. She returned to sickbay, though she was tempted to go to the bridge, and found Beverly trying to comfort a weeping woman. Clare Raymond, from the old record in the computer. Deanna came to Beverly's side, and the doctor glanced at her in relief.

"Hello, Ms. Raymond," Deanna said warmly. "I'm Lieutenant-Commander Deanna Picard. I'm here to take you to your quarters."

The blonde woman's sobs slowed and she covered her mouth with her hand. "I'm so confused," she blurted.

"I know," Deanna exclaimed soothingly. "I know it's going to be difficult. But everything's going to be all right. Please come with me. You're hungry, and you need rest -- it's difficult I know but I think it will be easier after you've had some real sleep."

"Okay. Thank you, Doctor," the woman said with a wavering smile.

Clare Raymond wasn't as difficult to tolerate as Offenhouse with his unstated attraction to her. Clare was merely confused, and afraid in a straightforward manner -- she wasn't angry or in denial as the man had been. Sniffling, she walked with Deanna into the lift without question.

"Computer, please take us to Clare Raymond's quarters," Deanna said after the door shut. Clare blinked at the readout as they started to move. "The computer accepts voice commands -- you can ask for anything you wish. It can direct you back to your quarters if you decide to take a walk, or to the lounge, or to sickbay, or the salon -- you can ask for a map of the ship."

Clare gaped, and followed her out of the lift on deck six. Will hadn't assumed the three rescued sleepers knew each other -- probably studied the information from the derelict vessel's computer as she had. So they were on separate decks. The small cabin was nearly exactly the same as Offenhouse's. Clare listened to her describe how to use the replicator, and had to be coaxed to order something.

"Uh -- computer... one mug of hot chocolate." She stared at the result with big eyes. Slowly, she picked it up and sipped a little. And once again, she started to cry. "I'm sorry, it just reminds me of my sons. I don't know why I'm here, I'm sorry, I'm just a mess!"

"Why don't we sit down for a moment?"

At least it led to Clare putting the chocolate on the table, instead of nearly tipping it over herself in distress. Deanna asked the computer for a handkerchief and handed it over as she joined their guest on the couch. "You're here because somehow you were put in a cryogenic chamber and launched into space with a dozen other people. Only three of you survived. I'm guessing that Dr. Crusher told you about the situation?"

"She said we were in the future -- I guess the present now, three hundred years or so after we were supposed to die -- it's so unnatural," she blurted. "I shouldn't outlive my own children! I didn't even get to see my grandchildren! What will I do now?"

"It said in the file that you had a husband?"

Clare laughed at it, shaking her head. "Donald. It's so like him, putting me in a thing like that -- we always joked about how helpless he'd be without me. Will I ever find out what happened to my family?"

"I think you will. Computer, are there any living descendants of Donald and Clare Raymond of the late twentieth century, of Boston, in the United States?"  


"There are two hundred forty-seven living direct descendants of Donald and Clare Raymond."  


Clare gaped at her. "That many?" she whispered.  


Deanna retrieved the padd and gave Clare instructions on how to bring up images and text. She spent extra time sitting with Clare, until she could sense acceptance and the beginnings of grief. "You have plenty of time to do research, Clare. Are you all right?"  


"I think so," Clare said softly as she gazed at a picture of a few living family members. There were emotions present that said otherwise -- a little despair, Deanna thought.  


"I'm going to need to go back to sickbay for a while. You can come back to the doctor any time, just ask the computer for directions. Or you can contact me by name. I'll check in with you later and see how you're doing."  


Clare smiled with genuine appreciation. "Thank you. I appreciate your help."  


As she left, Deanna asked the computer to monitor what Clare replicated -- banned her from getting any sort of weapon or poison, or anything that could conceivably be used to injure herself. The shadow of doubt remained.  


The final rescued victim of time and space was laughing when she returned to sickbay. "Sonny, this is Counselor Picard," Beverly said.  


"Well, hell-o beautiful," Sonny exclaimed, jumping down from where he sat on the edge of his biobed. "Here to show me to my new home? Doc says this is a long time from when I got put in that box!"  


"Yes, it is. You don't seem upset by this." Deanna backed a step when he acted as if he might put an arm over her shoulders.  


"Well, I'll just write a song about it," he said with a grin, drawing back, unaffected by her rejection. "Let's see the palace you'll be puttin' me in. I don't suppose you have a guitar I could borrow?"  


It required a side trip to the larger industrial replicator on deck twenty, and he strummed the guitar in the lift on the way to deck eight, section four. He glanced around the cabin uncuriously and plopped on the couch, strummed while she gave him a brief lesson in replication and the same summary of what he could or could not do that the others had gotten. He grinned up at her.  


"Thanks, Counselor," he said with a nod. "I think I'll be fine. Listen to the news and write up a song about sleeping through the present into the future."  


"All right. I'll check on you later." Deanna left shaking her head. From the description of his physical issues, he'd been some sort of addict -- there were clear signs of degradation in most of his organs that Beverly had said indicated frequent substance use, the like of which hadn't been seen in centuries. Alcoholic beverages were still around, so were a few recreational drugs, but the chronic addictions that had tormented society for so long were no longer a problem. Since he wouldn't be able to get anything out of the replicator other than synthehol, she issued no restrictions and headed for the bridge.  


Humans were an ongoing surprise to her, in all their myriad ways to cope with incredible, unbelievable situations.  



	49. Chapter 49

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The episode's version of these people from the twentieth century was somewhat unrealistic, I think.... Trying not to offend anyone I guess.
> 
> I'm generally not timid that way. No ratings to worry about...

"Mr. Data," Jean-Luc said, requesting information.

"The last shuttle has docked," the android reported. "We have retrieved several pieces of wreckage and the sciences department is analyzing."

Exchanging a look with Will, Jean-Luc nodded. "Mr. McKay, plot a course along the Neutral Zone. We're going to sweep the area for any ships, any of the shuttles that we've identified as missing from the outposts. Lieutenant-Commander Yar, I want you to broadcast a short automated message that we're in the region looking for survivors of the attacks and we're here to rescue them. Don't be specific to Starfleet."

"Aye, sir."

"Do you really think we'll find anyone?" Will asked softly.

"I can hope. It would go a long way to solving the mystery of who did this, help Starfleet better prepare for their return. You have the bridge, Number One."

Jean-Luc headed down to the lab where some of the collected wreckage was being studied. When he came in, a handful of people were present; Dr. Crusher had joined them, and two of her staff were putting the body on an antigrav stretcher.

"We're going to see what the biobeds make of him," Lieutenant Reeves said, approaching the captain.

"Have you identified what species?"

Reeves glanced at the remains. It wasn't pretty -- the skin was a pale, artificial white, and quite a bit of it was pitted and a large chunk of the face was missing, jawbone and shreds of dangling flesh a gruesome sight. Most of the body had been replaced by some sort of bio-mechanical technology.

"He's either Vulcan or Romulan," Beverly said. "Given our location...."

"That needs to be verified, Doctor. I hope you'll keep me apprised. Have you revived our guests?"

"Yes. The counselor took them to assigned quarters and is working on helping them accept what's happened to them. They all had a different response to the situation," Beverly said. "I discharged them all from sickbay already. Which is fine -- they would probably be all the more traumatized seeing this fellow."

"We're searching for the missing shuttles at the moment so you might have more patients shortly. Thank you, Doctor."

He left ahead of them, got a lift and headed for his quarters. He hadn't had lunch and it was nearly the end of shift, and his empty stomach was complaining. Deanna wasn't there when he arrived but came in shortly after, as he took a plate from the replicator.

"Everything all right?" she asked, eyeing the plate with an expression that suggested she too had skipped a meal, even if he couldn't tell how hungry she was. "Computer, I'll have the same."

"As well as it could be. We're still searching. Have you gotten any more sleep?"

Deanna brought her steak and potatoes over as well, and sat down with him. "No. Beverly wants us to go back to sickbay after dinner."

"Yes, so she can conduct her experiment -- if it helps her help you, it will be worth doing." He started to eat, eagerly, and noticed her doing the same but with less gusto. "How are our passengers from the past? Beverly said you had installed them in quarters."

"And given them instructions, on how to access information and replicate food, visit the public areas of the ship. The woman is the most traumatized. I can sense she's truly struggling with the concept of having lost her family all at once. The men are so disconnected from their own feelings -- the older of the two, Ralph Offenhouse, his definition of himself is so entrenched as someone in control and powerful that he's wavering, going back and forth between accepting the reality and attempting to find out whether any of his money exists anywhere -- he's asked the computer about his family, but more often about different accounts held in defunct financial institutions. Groping for meaning in a world where he has no job, which was what defined him before. The third, a singer and songwriter, reassured me he was fine. The computer tells me he has been trying to replicate various illicit compounds -- substances that interact with human physiology in various ways -- and trying to get real alcoholic beverages out instead of synthaholic ones. He's starting to be more anxious. I'm going to check on him before we go to sickbay."

"Maybe I should meet these people."

Deanna gave him a Look. "Are you sure you want to do that?"

"Are there reasons that I should not?"

And so he went with her. She went to the woman's quarters first, and he was introduced to Clare Raymond, a woman in her thirties. She had changed out of the blue pantsuit into a simple dress with a floral pattern, pink blossoms on a light green background, and tied her hair back from her face. She looked more exhausted than Deanna did, had clearly been crying a lot -- red-rimmed blue eyes met his.

"Thank you for rescuing me," she said, with no real enthusiasm in her voice. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Captain."

"Are you finding the accommodations to your liking?" He gestured vaguely at the room. At his side, Deanna smiled on, but he could tell she was uncertain and wary.

"Yes, very much so -- I was asking the computer to tell me about home. About Boston. It looks so different," she said in a small voice. Glancing around nervously, she smiled again. "Are you taking me back to Earth?"

"You will be taken back to Earth if it's where you wish to go," he said, and Deanna's moment of fear was enough to keep him from going on about all the other worlds of the Federation. "Dr. Crusher tells me you've been restored to health. You must be feeling quite disoriented, I'd imagine, so I'll encourage you to continue researching your options and talking to the counselor -- if there's anything we can do to help you, we'll see that it's done."

Clare looked like she might cry. Instead, she asked, "The counselor said you had two other people who survived in pods aboard the ship with me?"

"Yes, two men. One named Ralph Offenhouse and the other -- you said his name was Sonny?"

Deanna was amused as he was bemused. "It's what he goes by. Sonny Clemonds."

"Oh," Clare exclaimed. "The singer? I mean -- I don't really listen to his music, it's a little too down home corn pone for my taste. I'm not surprised he made it into the program, whatever it was, that got us in those pods. He was popular." She paused, tilting her head. "I wonder what's popular now?"

"Well, you can always -- "

" -- ask the computer," Clare finished with him, grinning. "Yes."

"How are you feeling, Clare?" Deanna asked.

She shrugged and hugged herself. "I guess better, less overwhelmed, but I'm also thinking that will come and go like the tide. Being that's the way it goes with these kinds of things. When my ma died I was like this for weeks. I cried for months after the miscarriage. But this time it doesn't look like things will get back to normal."

There really was nothing to say to that. Jean-Luc glanced at Deanna, who came to his rescue. "There's going to be a performance of the jazz band tonight in Ten Forward. You should go -- I think Sonny was intending to. It will give you an opportunity to meet other people."

Clare nodded, but again, with no real enthusiasm. "Thank you. If I go... what should I wear?"

"Anything you like. I would say I'd see you there, but I have an appointment. See you tomorrow?"

Jean-Luc appreciated the quick exit, and followed Deanna down the corridor away from the woman's cabin. "I can see why you are concerned about her."

"Computer, is Ralph Offenhouse in his quarters?" Deanna asked. Upon receiving an affirmative, she set off for the lift. "How long are you willing to keep them aboard?"

"You know we can't keep them beyond the first starbase. I've already informed Quinn, he's making inquiries into options for them -- he thought they would be given Starfleet housing and counseling services for as long as they need it, until they've transitioned well enough to make informed choices and resume their lives."

She led him to deck seven and onward to the next cabin -- when they entered, it was quite a different scene. There were things all over the table -- empty glasses, random items, even bound paper books. The sprawl of items had even wandered across the floor.

"Mr. Offenhouse?" Deanna called out loudly, disapproving of the mess. Offenhouse had admitted them when she'd signaled for admittance; he must be there somewhere.

A portly man with gray hair emerged from the bedroom, wearing an old style of suit that had likely been in fashion in the late twentieth century. He was smiling at Deanna in a manner that bothered Jean-Luc. Until he noticed Jean-Luc and did a double take.

"This is Captain Picard," Deanna said. "He wanted to meet you. This is Mr. Ralph Offenhouse, formerly of the United States."

"Mr. Offenhouse," Jean-Luc exclaimed, holding out a hand. "My wife tells me you have questions." Which was not true, but it served his purpose.

Offenhouse shook his hand firmly then let go and eyed him, startled enough by the statement, likely by naming her his wife, that he didn't notice the scathing glance she shot at Jean-Luc. "I have questions but it sounds like your computer can't answer them so I'm bettin' you probably can't either."

"You might be able to find answers once you return to Earth. The information in our databases is not infinite, after all. I doubt your financial information was deemed useful for any mission we might be on."

Offenhouse snorted in appreciation of that. "I appreciate your candor, Captain. I wonder if you might be from the states?"

"My family lives in France," Jean-Luc said automatically, disconcerted by the assumption. "You are aware I believe that the United States is no longer a country. Some use it as a place name."

"That's what I've learned -- old habits, you know," Offenhouse said with an ease and general goodwill that Jean-Luc hadn't expected. "I've been doing some reading. I have to admit I wouldn't have expected everything to go the way it's gone -- this Federation of Planets of yours, it sounds as though you can't get much traction with currency these days. So how does it all work?"

Deanna had settled into a resigned state of mild disbelief and amusement and now wore a polite smile he recognized from many diplomatic endeavors. Behind it, however, Jean-Luc could tell she was struggling to maintain that facade. "It sounds as though you've been doing quite a bit of research already," Jean-Luc said, with a forced smile of his own. "Hasn't that yielded adequate information about how it works?"

"Oh, there's the official explanation and then there's how it really works," Offenhouse said with a wink. "You know."

Jean-Luc turned to Deanna, baffled. She nodded slowly. "Mr. Offenhouse is likely referring to the way so many organizations including the government operated in the twentieth century. Special interest groups and backoffice deals were normal. There was a culture of calculated, strategic deceit across socioeconomic lines -- the ideal of a free market and a democratic society was rarely realized for very long. When people were given power, all too often they were vulnerable to either bribery or undue influence -- perhaps Mr. Offenhouse has not realized, though I did mention, that people are no longer forced to struggle for food or home, or money. He thinks the economy we have now is as competitive as the one he knew then."

Offenhouse smirked, his head wagging a little. "So what you're sayin' is, it's all gone to socialism. Well, shit."

Deanna's smile thinned. She was losing patience. "Mr. Offenhouse is also of the opinion that I am just a pretty face. He values blunt candor over polite honesty, he sees women as weak. He's demonstrated that when I've come to see him on my own. He views 'socialism' as a weak, inadequate form of governance and does not clearly understand how the Federation currently operates so uses a familiar label to describe it. He doesn't understand how powerful it was for the people of the twenty second century to confront the fact that humanity is not the only species in the universe, that petty quarrels over money fade to nothing in the face of galactic turmoil, invasions of hostile species with more advanced technology, or natural disasters such as asteroid showers that destroy cities. He didn't witness how the various countries came together in unity to confront such things out of self-preservation, to confront the realities of being a small, backward world in a much larger galaxy full of more technologically advanced species. He was asleep and traveling away from Earth in a defenseless, automated vessel when the Vulcans landed on Earth the first time. Nor is he thinking about the odds he defied in simply being alive, instead of destroyed in a collision with an asteroid or having the ship he was in taken by a vessel populated by a non-Federation species who might have viewed him as food, or a scientific project, rather than an intelligent being to be revived."

Jean-Luc watched Offenhouse's dismayed expression as she spoke. "Perhaps you should do a little more research, Mr. Offenhouse. I think you'll understand it all soon enough. We'll talk again tomorrow." Turning, he went out the door without another look. Deanna came with him, slipping her arm through his and walking down the corridor toward the lift.

"Mr. Offenhouse is experiencing a rude awakening," Deanna murmured.

"One that you are no doubt enjoying, if he was as rude as you implied."

Her irritation said yes. She was frowning. "I've checked on him twice today, after taking him to his quarters. He complimented my looks often, used several endearments when addressing me, and never tried to discuss anything beyond what I do, am I married, do I have children -- I've been reading on the cultural and social norms of his time, and I thought that surely the authors were overstating their case, but I'm afraid that's been proven incorrect." She sighed heavily, leaning on his arm. "When I introduced you his entire demeanor changed. When you said I was your wife he was shocked, a little embarrassed -- and then I no longer existed, apparently."

"We should have Selar conduct follow-up appointments. When the three have settled in, we should have a small reception, let them meet the senior staff. Including Mr. Worf."

"I have married an evil man," Deanna said airily, a matching evil smile in place as she gave him a sly look.

"Not at all. He asked me to tell him how it is. I believe it would be more effective to demonstrate. He's going to have to adjust, there are plenty of other species residing on Earth these days."

 "Computer, where is Sonny Clemonds?" she asked as they entered the lift.

"Sonny Clemonds is in Ten Forward."

Deanna smiled whimsically. "Perhaps you should postpone meeting him. I suspect he's performing."

"Then off to sickbay we go."

 

* * *

 

Deanna tried not to fidget as she watched Dr. Crusher come into the CMO's office. Jean-Luc was calm and hopeful, sitting next to her with his left hand resting on her knee. "Well, what's the verdict?" he exclaimed, confident it would be good news judging from the happiness in his voice.

"I think we can give you a good night's rest, Deanna," Beverly said, sitting behind her desk and resting her forearms on it in front of her. She held out a hypo, which Deanna leaned forward to take.

"That's good to hear. I'll look forward to that."

"Dr. Selar has a modified version of the sedative we tried last night, and you can take the hypo home -- use it when you're ready for bed. It should allow you to sleep uninterrupted without drugging you into unconsciousness." Beverly looked to Jean-Luc, then, and changed subjects. "I did confirm that the recovered body is a Romulan."

Deanna blinked at that. "What? What body?"

Beverly gaped at her, looking back and forth at them, alarmed -- probably that she might have let something slip that the captain hadn't wanted told.

"I didn't tell you earlier -- I didn't think it was necessary." Jean-Luc was half-lying and Deanna smiled at him despite her annoyance.

"You thought if I didn't know about it I wouldn't channel some part of his immediate past, and have more nightmares," she filled in.

He shrugged -- it made her laugh, thinking that she might be one of the tiny minority of people in the universe who ever saw Captain Picard shrugging sheepishly. Beverly calmed significantly after witnessing this back-and-forth.

"Where did you find this body?" Deanna asked.

"There was a firefight at this outpost that resulted in significant debris -- one of the alien ships must have been destroyed, pieces of it were adrift around the outpost. The body was part of the debris." Jean-Luc shook his head, grimacing. "It's not in good shape."

"He was changed, we think by the aliens," Beverly said. "He was turned into a chimera -- there are nanomachines in his bloodstream, all inactive now that he is dead, and implants in his brain. One of his arms is mechanical, the other half and half. One of his eyes has been swapped out for an ocular implant that scans on a broader range of light frequencies than a normal Romulan eye."

While the doctor spoke, Deanna remembered what she had experienced, and shuddered. "Assimilated."

"What?" Jean-Luc exclaimed, shifting in his chair and turning more toward her.

"They assimilated him. Made him part of their species." Some of the pieces of the 'dreams' she had had suddenly made sense.

Jean-Luc exchanged a look with Beverly. "This is based on your nightmares?"

"They aren't nightmares." It was time to tell him everything -- which she regretted avoiding, now that it was clear that he was trying to protect her. He was thinking she was fragile, obviously. "I want to see the body."

"Are you sure? He's pretty ugly," Beverly said, trying to inject a little humor.

"I'm sure."

They were keeping him in one of the labs near sickbay, and appeared to be done with examining him. No one was present when they entered the small room full of instrumentation. The biobed in the center was for detailed microcellular scans and there were images on the four monitors arranged on a stand to the right of the bed. Deanna glanced at the images before turning to study the man's face. Beverly and Jean-Luc waited and watched, anxiously anticipating her reaction.

This time she was ready for the onslaught, as she let her senses slide back into the man's recent past. He was indeed gruesome to look at but it was easy enough to extend her awareness and tap into what the poor man had gone through in the past weeks.

"He was a junior officer on a warbird," she said, opening her eyes. "The warbird responded to the distress call sent by the outpost. Federation frequencies were being disrupted. The warbird destroyed the other vessel but there was another that arrived, while they were fighting, and they were boarded." She swayed, the memories flooding her.

"The Romulans came to the aid of a Federation outpost?" Beverly exclaimed.

"He was on the bridge when they heard the call. I don't understand Romulan but I could make out that the transmission was in Standard. People like this beamed onto their bridge and started beaming away with individuals. The warbird was destroyed I think." There was a memory, something like seeing a readout on the bridge -- strange script, symbols she couldn't recognize, and a two dimensional representation of a sleek warbird that fizzled and went away. 

"You're getting all this from this body?" Beverly had her arms crossed and her brows were coming together in surprised concern.

"It's easier for me to manage input when I'm awake, if I'm able to anticipate it." Deanna looked at his face, which was half-gone and terrible. The cybernetics had been partially removed from him, probably some of it gone to another lab for further study; the bottom half of his right arm was missing. 

"You can actually get that much information," Jean-Luc said, sounding less upset than he felt.

"I don't have much after he was taken. It was painful, and then it was as though he was pushed -- no." She stared at the hollow eye socket above the ragged flesh of his torn face. "Subsumed. He wasn't gone. He wasn't as conscious, though, if he was aware at all."

Jean-Luc sidled over to her while she spoke and studied her face. "Anything else?"

"Nothing else."

He stared down at the body on the table. "There's a good chance we're going to run into more of these."

"You should both head off to bed," Beverly said, softly suggesting. She was right. It was getting late.

Deanna raised her head, and Jean-Luc did as well -- they both smiled a little at the synchronicity as their eyes met. "She's right. Come on."

"Is that an order?" Deanna asked.

"A request." He gestured at the body. "He'll be here tomorrow, I think."

"Good night, Beverly." Deanna gave her a smirk and turned for the door. Beverly smiled and waved her fingers in farewell; she followed them into the corridor but turned to head back to sickbay instead of turning right toward the lift with them.

She waited until they were back in their quarters, as did he -- they stopped as the door closed and stood looking at each other, thinking about what to say.

"You're going to tell me that I shouldn't worry about you as much. And I'm going to tell you that it was more that I wanted you to have a little rest, before you joined everyone else in consideration of what to make of our cybernetic Romulan." He took a sideways step toward the bedroom.

She followed him, feeling genuinely tired. She almost decided to have a bath, but recognized that she would likely fall asleep in it. Pressing the hypo against her neck, she dropped it on the dressing table and started to undress.

"Well?" he prompted.

"I'm liking that you're having the entire conversation -- I'm really very tired, you know."

"All right," he said slowly, up to no good and grinning. "You're going to tell me we'll wake up in the morning and have enough time for sex before breakfast."

She giggled at that. "Oh, the optimism. Only if the medication works."

"We have the finest medical staff in Starfleet."

Kicking aside her shoes, she dropped the dress across the foot of the bed and started to peel off her tights. "And of course you are always right."

"I'm sorry," he said, serious now. "I know you can handle it. I simply felt the delay wouldn't be detrimental, and you needed rest."

She left everything where it fell and headed for the aft side of the bed, her head starting to feel foggy. He was there in an instant, and held aside the covers while she got in. "I definitely need it now. Please tell me you'll go to sleep as well?"

"I suppose it wouldn't be a real test of the medication if I didn't."

She lasted until he was in bed with her and ordering out the lights, and drifted off in a cloud of numb, blissful haze.


	50. Chapter 50

"How is Deanna? Better than yesterday I hope," Will said in the lift on the way to the bridge in the morning.

Jean-Luc sighed. Deanna had slept well. He'd had difficulties staying asleep, thinking about the Romulans and why they hadn't made an appearance yet. "I think better, but frustrated. Our friends from the past are not doing so well. Were you in Ten Forward last night?" Being called and informed that Sonny Clemonds had been involved in an altercation in Ten Forward had awakened both he and Deanna -- more him, though the call had come to Deanna she had been so groggy that he'd spoken up and given the order to confine the man to quarters and put security outside.

Will's grin said volumes. "We probably shouldn't have bothered Deanna. That was actually humorous, once we established no one was hurt."

They emerged on the bridge, and went to relieve the officer of the watch, taking their seats. "Good morning," Jean-Luc exclaimed as Data emerged from the aft turbolift to relieve the ensign at ops. "Let's get down to business."

They reviewed the night logs -- the _Enterprise_ had searched a wide swath of the space around the outposts and was currently following a faint, sporadic sensor reading that might be a shuttle. There had been no response to the automated message they had continued to broadcast.

About two hours into the alpha shift, they found something, finally. "It's one of the shuttles," Tasha announced triumphantly. "Two life signs. No answers to hails. It looks like the engines are inoperable and life support is offline."

"Let's get it in the shuttle bay. Bridge to sickbay -- medical team to the main shuttle bay. Come on, Number One."

Jean-Luc paged LaForge and when he and Will arrived, there was a team already working on getting the door open and Beverly stood by waiting with six of her staff and two stretchers. There were indeed two officers in the shuttle, both unconscious and hypoxic, and identified quickly as being from the first outpost. Jean-Luc watched them be scanned and examined, and Ogawa tried to rouse each one without success. Both were pale with blue-tinged lips. Their uniforms were in disarray -- both had been partially wrapped in emergency blankets. Another indicator of how important life support was. They were, he reflected, extremely fortunate to be alive.

"Lieutenants Migs and Lieutenant Naro," Beverly said. "We should be able to have them on their feet shortly, neither one has any serious injuries -- this is a straightforward case of not enough oxygen." She gestured, sending her staff off with the patients on the antigrav stretchers, then following them. The nurse had already connected oxygen masks and given injections.

Jean-Luc turned from watching them go to Will, who had walked around the shuttle with Geordi, peeking inside and eyeballing the exterior with a critical eye. The other engineering staff were starting to pull panels off the exterior of the shuttle to look inside.

"It doesn't look like it's been in a firefight," Geordi said. "It was hit once -- what we're seeing is consistent with readings we took at the outposts, same weaponry -- that one shot was powerful enough to disable the engines and fry the computer. They've been adrift since. I guess they figured two people in a disabled shuttle weren't worth finishing off. I'll have my staff go over it with a fine-toothed comb, sir."

"It looks like they were drifting for a week," Will said, wrinkling his nose. "It's pretty bad in there."

"Thank you, Mr. LaForge. Let us know if you find anything significant. Number One."

Will followed him from the shuttle bay. "I doubt we're going to find anything else out here."

"As do I. Due diligence, however. I'm going to sickbay. I'll be back on the bridge shortly."

Will understood the implicit order and went in the lift with him, but didn't leave it on deck ten. Jean-Luc arrived just as Dr. Crusher let the first rescued officer sit up and look at her. The young woman looked much better without the blue lips. She looked terrified. Her wide brown eyes swept back and forth, landed on Jean-Luc, and stayed there as he approached.

Beverly glanced at him. "This is Captain Picard. You're aboard the _Enterprise_. Can you tell us your name?"

The cracked, chapped lips parted -- the lieutenant blinked rapidly and moisture gathered in her eyes. "Lieutenant Mary Migs, sir. I was stationed on Outpost Delta Zero Three."

Jean-Luc nodded. "You know the outpost was destroyed, then."

"There was nothing we could do," she exclaimed, tears slipping down her cheeks. "The station commander was calling for evacuation."

Smiling, Jean-Luc turned to the doctor. "Doctor?"

"She's fine now. Though I recommend that the counselor assess her before you start to debrief. Given what we've seen so far." Serious blue eyes underlined the recommendation with firm warning.

"Then we should adjourn to the counselor's office. Which will be more comfortable than this anyway. And then we will assign you quarters."

His casual tone seemed to help the lieutenant. She looked at her former shuttle companion still unconscious on the other bed. "Will she be all right?"

"She's Bolian, and her system was less able to withstand the hypoxia," Beverly said gently. "She's going to be here a while longer. Don't worry, we'll take care of her."

"Thank you, Doctor." The petite lieutenant smiled tentatively at Jean-Luc. "Sir."

He turned, and when he strode off for the door she followed. In the lift she stared at the floor.

"What department were you in?"

She jumped a little. Signs of post traumatic stress, he thought, a quiet question shouldn't be so startling. "Operations, sir."

The lift stopped abruptly and the door opened. "Hello, Captain," Isabel Stanton said as she came in. Her little boy was right behind her. Tommy grinned up at him and saluted.

"At ease," Jean-Luc said. "Where are you off to today?" He had met the Stantons a couple of times since they'd come aboard by chance, as he moved about the ship, and learned that asking a question right away would diminish the possibility of childish questions he didn't want to answer.

"We're going to play baseball," Tommy shouted.

"Tommy, keep it down," Isabel scolded gently. "Please. It's disrespectful to shout."

"Sorry," Tommy mumbled.

The lift stopped, and Isabel gave her son a light nudge of the shoulder. He beamed up at Jean-Luc and called out, "Bye-eee" as he let his mother guide him out. Once they were gone, the lift moved on as before, toward deck two.

"You have children aboard," Migs exclaimed.

"The _Enterprise_ has families aboard. We're intended to explore the far reaches of the quadrant for extended periods. How long have you been on the outpost?"

"Two years. I was asking Captain Maynard for a list of transfer opportunities a few weeks ago."

That was edging closer to recent events, and the lift was a bad place to open that box. "Where were you thinking of transferring? Given the nature of the outposts I'd guess you might like to try one of the core worlds, or a Federation colony."

"I was thinking Alpha Centauri. Or Rigel."

The door opened on deck two, and he led her out, down the corridor to the second door, and touched the panel. Deanna was expecting them -- she was standing in the middle of the office, smiling, when he stepped in. "This is Lieutenant Migs. We recovered her and one other in a disabled shuttle less than an hour ago."

"Good timing -- I just finished with a client. Come, have a seat." Deanna waved at her couch. "Can I get you some tea?"

 "When you are done discussing the matter with her, Counselor, see that she is given quarters and come see me."

Deanna smiled warmly at him. "Of course, sir."

Jean-Luc glanced at Migs and left her there, feeling as though he should have said something more but uncertain of what. It was always awkward for him when confronted with situations like this. It didn't help that Deanna was feeling amused by his awkwardness.

Will watched him come down to his seat on the bridge, and nodded as he sat down. "Everything okay with the survivors?"

"I left Lieutenant Migs with the counselor. We're back on search?"

"Aye sir, and nothing's being found." Will huffed and leaned back in his chair. "I listened to the logs from the shuttle. Geordi and Data were able to get the computer online to get them -- just a couple of them before there wasn't enough oxygen. The Bolian, Naro, said that the aggressive species is called the Borg."

That sounded familiar, somehow, but it wasn't coming to him where he'd heard of the Borg. Jean-Luc nodded thoughtfully and tried to remember.

Will went on to ask, "Have you spoken to the admiral yet today?"

"I know you're hoping we'll be set free from this, Number One, but it's not very likely until we have more information. But -- I'm going to call him now. See you in a minute." He got up again and headed for the ready room, into the quiet and the solitude -- sighing, he went to his desk and paid attention to Deanna, for a few minutes, and thought that she must be listening seriously to something upsetting from the tenor of her emotions.

He requested an open channel from Yar, and within minutes Admiral Quinn's face winked into existence on the monitor. "Jean-Luc, how are you? Any news?"

"We've picked up two survivors -- they were adrift in a disabled shuttle. The counselor is speaking with one officer, the other is still in critical condition in sickbay." He paused, debating, and decided to ask anyway. "Have you ever heard of the Borg?"

Quinn didn't react in any way to that; he remained straight-faced and sober. "Never. Why?"

"One of the lieutenants named them as the species that destroyed the outpost. We're still examining the remains of the corpse we found. My second officer believes he can adapt a power source to partially re-animate and study the biomechanical components. We'll send you the reports by end of shift."

"Good. Excellent. And obviously nothing from the Romulans, still."

"Not yet. I'm considering just starting to hail them directly. There's been no response to our automated broadcast."

"Be careful, Jean-Luc." Quinn stared at him silently, and for a moment Jean-Luc thought he would end the conversation. "How is your wife?"

"She's doing well enough."

"Good," Quinn said, with little emotion. It was strange, not like his old friend at all.

"Is everything all right, Greg?"

"Of course, of course. Keep me updated, Captain. Thank you."

The monitor went dark. It left him to think and brood. When he realized that time was ticking past lunchtime, he replicated something and hardly tasted it as he ate and read through yesterday's report on what sciences was learning about the body they'd recovered.

The chime startled him a little, and he realized how much time had passed as he recognized that it was Deanna. She came in with the straight face that matched her serious, concerned mood. Today she was in one of her green dresses and had her hair wound up tightly in a knot on her head. "I installed our guest in a suite on deck six. She's got a long way to come back from this. You have been very serious."

"The logs from the shuttle name our presumed enemy the Borg. Ever heard of them?"

Her brow wrinkled. "No. Should I have?"

"I can't shake the feeling I've heard it before. Quinn hadn't, so I'm trying to think of who could have mentioned them."

Deanna reached across the desk and snatched a chunk of broccoli out of his salad. "How could you have heard about some species from the far reaches of space outside the Alpha Quadrant? Do you know someone from another quadrant?"

He snapped his fingers, sitting up, startling her. "That's it. Come on."

"Come where?" she said around the mouthful of broccoli. But she followed him from the ready room, to the lift, all the way to deck ten, forward.

Guinan looked up from whatever she was doing behind the bar and smiled at them as they approached. "The usual?"

"For two," he said, glancing at Deanna with a smirk.

Guinan turned to fetch a couple of tea cups and put them up on the counter. "I'm surprised to see you here in the middle of alpha shift."

Jean-Luc settled on one of the seats and watched his old friend put together a pot of tea to steep. "I have a question for you. When we met, you told me your world had been destroyed."

Guinan's smile was gone, just like that. "So?"

"So you told me that the Borg were responsible. I was hoping you could tell me more about them."

The set of Guinan's mouth shifted subtly, to disapproval. "What do you want to know?"

"I think we might have one in one of the labs."

Guinan had been on the verge of pouring the tea in a cup. She stopped and set down the pot. After a moment of contemplation, she looked him in the eye. "If the Borg are on the way into the Federation, I'm going to request that I be allowed to leave at the next Starbase."

Deanna's hand, which had come to rest on his knee, tightened slightly at that. Jean-Luc gazed back at Guinan steadily. "I was hoping for information about whether diplomacy was attempted, if there was a -- "

"The Borg don't do that," Guinan said. "When they come, they take your technology and your people, whether you have anything to say about it or not. It's how they operate. Your efforts to fight them, talk to them, attempt diplomatic solutions, will be irrelevant. My world, when I came back, had been decimated. And the scattering of people left behind had horror stories. We all departed and attempted to start over. We're scattered through the Alpha Quadrant now. I suspect we'll scatter even farther if the Borg are moving in."

"I don't know about moving in. This could have been a scout -- they obviously caught the outposts unprepared. But we'll be able to analyze and prepare, if they really are moving into our part of the galaxy," Jean-Luc said.

Guinan poured the tea finally. "You have optimism. That's a constant for you. But I'm not sure it serves you in this instance."

Jean-Luc watched her leave the pot in front of them for their use, and sipped his tea as Guinan departed to make the rounds of the handful of occupied tables.

"She's afraid," Deanna murmured, between sips, holding her cup close to her lips.

"That's not like her."

Deanna shook her head and put down her cup on the counter. "It's a first, since she's been aboard. What do you think?"

"We're going to contact the Romulans. And then we're going to contact Quinn again, update him, and hopefully move on. Have you checked on our guests today?"

"I spoke to Sonny. He's struggling with his old addictions to substances he hasn't been able to replicate, and part of last night's behavior was driven by that, I think. Our businessman is starting to wrestle with reality -- I took him to the holodeck and showed him how to use it. He wanted to see the current state of Boston. I forwarded a request to Memory Alpha for information on his assets, on his behalf, but I think it's finally starting to sink in, he was becoming depressed."

"How is the woman? Clare?"

Deanna's eyes were sad. "She's the same, perhaps a little more depressed. I encouraged Alia to check in on her as well from time to time, and Beverly does too. Nurse Ogawa invited her to come with her to Ten Forward for dinner tonight. Trying to give her a friendly nudge. She didn't come out last night as we had hoped."

"Do you recommend that we transfer them to another vessel for transportation to Earth sooner, or should we allow them to normalize here for a longer period?"

Deanna smiled at that. "That's very generous of you. I think I'll ask them the question and let them decide. I'll explain the risks of staying aboard, and let them have that much autonomy."

"Good. I'm going to the bridge, then, and come up with a message to send the Romulans. I'd like you on the bridge if we get a response."

"I have an appointment in half an hour. But I'm sure I'll be able to tell when you do get a response, and equally sure that the client will understand my cutting the time short if that's necessary."

 


	51. Chapter 51

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Episodes are inconsistent on the matter of Romulan ranks.

Deanna arrived on the bridge without benefit of a summons -- Jean-Luc's anxiety had skyrocketed, and she had no doubt that it meant something she wanted to witness. She took her seat at his side as he asked Tasha to respond to a hail. Rising, he straightened his uniform as was his nervous habit and announced to thin air, "This is Captain Jean-Luc Picard."

"This is Commander Tebok," a stern baritone announced. "We received your transmission regarding the invading force that has destroyed your outposts."

A pause. Jean-Luc didn't glance at her, but she sensed his questioning. She could tell the commander was wary but she needed more conversation to get a real sense of how his emotions related to anything. To her surprise, Jean-Luc appeared to understand that. He went on with a mild tone. "Yes. I was beginning to be concerned, as we've been investigating the destruction of the outposts but had not heard from any Romulan vessels -- I was certain we would have, by now. It is after all your border as well as ours."

This startled the commander, and the moment of silence led to Will raising his eyebrows, as he sat in his place watching Jean-Luc pace a little with crossed arms. Finally the Romulan said, "I would expect that you might assume that the Romulan Empire had a hand in the destruction."

"I might have, if we had not examined the evidence. It's obvious there is another player in this great game. I thought that we might be able to arrange for an exchange of information, as I believe they are likely doing the same on your side of the Neutral Zone. It's obvious that this species has no intention of establishing peaceful co-existence with anyone."

The officers on the bridge were all tense at this exchange, and Tasha was in shock. Deanna watched Jean-Luc come to a stop in the middle of the bridge facing the main viewer.

"That would be acceptable," Commander Tebok said.

On the main viewscreen a huge green warship shimmered into being, making it obvious that the cloaking device was still a part of the Romulan arsenal. "We're getting a two way visual feed, sir," Tasha announced.

"Put it on the viewer," he replied. The view of the warbird was replaced by a view of what must have been the bridge of the warbird, with two Romulans in gray uniforms with squared shoulders. "Commander," Jean-Luc said, taking a step forward.

"Captain." The man on the left stood up. His mouth twitched in a mockery of a smile. "There are, as you surmise, similar outposts on our side of the Neutral Zone. We have been attacked as well." He was telling the truth, in a manner that said he would be doling out such information in bits and pieces, because he was still suspicious as hell.

Deanna sat up a little and pulled back her shoulders, smoothing her skirt over her knees. Slight movement, but she knew Tebok had noticed it. She settled again with her hands folded in her lap and a polite, subdued smile in place, raising her head slightly.

Jean-Luc nodded. "We believe this is a species from the Gamma Quadrant called the Borg."

The seated Romulan leaned forward slightly and the commander stood like a statue. Both of them were shocked.

"They appear to be parasitic," Jean-Luc went on. "They take technology and people from civilizations they run across. Assimilate them and use them to assimilate others. Their weapons appear to be superior to ours, and they have overpowered even outposts with vessels present to mount a defense."

"That would seem consistent with what we have observed," Tebok said. Still reluctant to give anything away, but still honoring the agreement to share information.

"Sir," Deanna said quietly.

Jean-Luc turned to look at her, without chiding her for the interruption, though Will stared at her as if she were crazy.

"We should give him to them," she murmured, though she knew well it would be picked up and transmitted.

"I was getting to that," he said, chiding now, but gently. Turning back to the viewer, he went on. "One of the outposts managed to put up enough of a fight that we were able to examine wreckage of one of their vessels. We recovered a body. It was what led us to the deduction that you were also suffering losses."

At that the seated Romulan sprang up from his chair. "You have a -- "

"No," Tebok snapped. The other officer dropped back into his seat. "You will return the body to us." It wasn't a statement, more a demand.

"Of course. If you would provide coordinates and drop your shields, we can do so at any time. Or you may come get him." Jean-Luc was putting a good veneer of polite diplomacy on. Deanna shot a look at Will, and the first officer noticed her and straightened up, wiping the surprise from his face at last. "You would be able to have a look at the rest of what we've recovered as well. I'd suppose that as thorough as the Borg have been, they've left you very little to look at as well."

"The centurion and I will be over shortly. We will meet you in your transporter room."

The transmission was cut abruptly, and they were once more given the view of the warbird.

"Your thoughts, Number One," Jean-Luc said.

"You're being too forthcoming," Will said at once. Tasha agreed, but said nothing. Deanna waited to be asked before she gave input.

"It did not seem to me that they would be at all, if I were as reticent as they," Jean-Luc said. "And I don't see the harm in sharing information about a mutual foe. This threat affects them directly, after all."

Tasha cleared her throat. Her disembodied voice came down to them from tactical. "They're requesting permission to transport -- I'm routing them to transporter room two."

"You have the bridge, Number One. Counselor," Jean-Luc exclaimed, rising and heading off to the lift.

Deanna glanced at Will. "Remember that Romulan rankings are different -- a commander is a fleet captain."

"So you're saying there's probably a cloaked fleet out there?" Will asked.

"What I can sense suggests so. I doubt that warbird has that many crew." Deanna followed Jean-Luc up the bridge while she spoke.

"Thanks," Will exclaimed.

Once they were in the lift and in motion, Deanna leaned against the wall. "Don't introduce me to them."

Jean-Luc stared at her, dubious. "Excuse me?"

"If you have to refer to me at all, use my name. Not my surname."

"Are you going to explain the reasoning behind this request?" He wasn't dismissing it out of hand, thankfully.

"Vulcans and Romulans give a single name and don't reveal their full names right away the way humans do. And you want me to be mysterious. Don't give me orders, either. Don't address me directly. Try to communicate nonverbally if you have to."

"You think there will be some advantage to this?" He wasn't entirely buying in, but he was more curious than mistrusting.

"Humans look for similarities when making friends. Whether they admit it or not, I think Vulcans and Romulans are the same in that way. They aren't revealing everything, you shouldn't either. If they ask directly introduce me as your wife, or the ship's counselor, whichever we feel is more appropriate or useful at the time." She leaned, shoulder to shoulder. "Relationships help build treaties. One of the reasons humanity is so successful in uniting such wildly different species to build the Federation -- you're good at relationships. We can't let fear or the past keep us from building relationship, and it will have to be gradual. Too much or too little of any element of it will alarm them and impede building trust. Letting them ask for information and providing it is less suspicious than providing too much up front, or none at all. We don't have to be dishonest. And not coming at them announcing a desire to obtain a treaty might help. Aggression isn't just shooting at someone, it can also be expecting them to change their mind despite your knowing that they likely won't."

That seemed to be enough of an answer. She didn't want to attempt a full explanation of why she thought this would help, at least not until later. The implication that she would be closely connected with him helped him, she thought. He seemed to want that.

When they arrived O'Brien was waiting with a smile, greeted the captain, and followed the order to beam in their guests. Tebok and his second in command, the stern centurion he introduced as Thei, were as stiff in person as they had been on the viewscreen. Deanna hung back and said nothing, kept smiling benignly, and stayed close behind Jean-Luc as the four of them departed the transporter room.

"The lab is on deck twelve -- there's a turbolift this way," Jean-Luc said, as he led them down the corridor.

Deanna could feel the attention of one of them -- they were keenly aware of their surroundings, as if they expected a security detachment to leap out and haul them away to captivity. She kept her breathing slow and easy, kept her smile in place, and did her best to radiate serenity.

"Deck twelve," Jean-Luc said, as the centurion came into the lift last and faced forward as they did. "I'm hoping that we can mount an adequate defense against the Borg, after we complete our analysis of the wreckage. We have survivors of one of the attacks as well. They can hopefully provide information that will help."

Tebok almost spoke -- probably about to ask why he was being so forthcoming. But he looked at the captain solemnly and said nothing. Thei, the centurion, made a sound that sounded like a dubious snort quickly suppressed.

Deanna projected reassurance in response to Jean-Luc's internal reaction -- anxiety. Smiling the blissful smile of the triumphant, the confident, the superior, she put her hands behind her back.

As they approached the lab, Tebok slowed. And so they all slowed their pace to match, and Jean-Luc was about to question when the Romulan spoke. "You are intending to share all the information on the Borg with us," he said tentatively.

Jean-Luc didn't have to feign surprise. "We are. Why wouldn't we? There is no reason to withhold it."

A brief smile flitted across Tebok's lips. His dark eyes slid to Deanna, and there was a moment she thought he might ask about her -- but again, with the calculated hesitance, and the deferment. "There are those who might suggest otherwise, I'm certain."

Jean-Luc exhaled impatiently. "But you aren't dealing with them, Commander. I can see that the Borg will be formidable, and I see no reason that the Romulans, or the Federation, should withhold anything that might keep either of us from defending ourselves -- regardless of our differences there's no justification for allowing either to suffer further destruction if it can be avoided. The Federation would also be interested in discussing the possibility of a treaty, but at the moment we have more pressing concerns."

Both Romulans raised their heads as if studying some startling specimen. Tebok nodded slowly, appreciating the assertion. "Let us see this body."

"I'll warn you that it's startling -- he was transformed into one of them," Jean-Luc said, turning to take the last dozen steps to the door. Deanna followed him closely into the lab, then sidled right to stand against cabinets on the wall, out of the way. Isabel Stanton was the only officer in the room. She came to attention at the foot of the lab table upon which the Romulan body had been placed.

The commander hissed in shock, as he approached the table, and made a circuit around it, slowly assessing what he was seeing.

"They did this to Federation officers as well," Jean-Luc said at last, breaking the silence. "This is apparently how they amass greater numbers -- they co-opt other species and turn them into biomechanical soldiers that can assimilate more individuals. The nanotechnology they use is impressive."

"This is abhorrent," Thei growled. He was glaring at the white face of the man on the table, at the empty socket where the implant had been removed for study.

"And extremely painful, apparently," Jean-Luc said. "Lieutenant Stanton, would you obtain a module containing the data collected so far on this man? Also the sensor logs we've gathered in the examination of the outposts, and the debris?"

"Yes, sir," she said crisply, spinning on a heel to head for a console.

"I agree with you that this is a pressing concern," Tebok intoned. "We have lost six outposts and have had minimal success identifying or even understanding how it was done -- the outposts were empty and two were completely destroyed. This would explain the absence of bodies or survivors -- they are all now the enemy."

Lieutenant Stanton handed off an isolinear module to the captain and he dismissed her, thanking her, before turning back to Tebok and offering the chip to him. "This would be all the information we've collected in our study of this individual."

Tebok took it slowly. "Thank you, Captain." He looked at the module and tucked it away in a pocket. Turned back to stare at the body.

Deanna kept herself upright and collected, while this conversation continued and the Romulans processed their grief. Thei kept glancing at her while Tebok was commenting on the mechanical arm, the empty eye socket, and Jean-Luc answered the questions he asked. She kept some of her attention on Will, tense and maintaining order on the bridge, waiting. She was aware of the great number of Romulans in space around them. The crew was, as usual in dire situations, incredibly anxious and on high alert, but in control and doing their duty. That Jean-Luc could tell through her that all of this was happening around them actually helped him be calmer. He liked having information and being aware. It helped him feel more in control of the situation.

When the commander's paranoia had diminished, when the conversation had reached its logical conclusion and they had arranged for the transport of the body, when it had gone in a sparkle of a transporter, Tebok finally turned to gaze at Deanna openly. "We have not been introduced."

Deanna smiled at him merrily and held out a hand, as Jean-Luc had earlier. "Deanna. It's a pleasure to meet you, Commander Tebok."

Tebok tentatively shook her hand, as he'd done the captain's, and smiled a little more than before. It was what she predicted. He'd been curious when he'd seen her on the bridge via subspace, he'd observed her since he'd come aboard, and now that he was feeling less anxious he was indulging his curiosity. "You are not human."

"Betazoid," she said, returning to her upright stance with hands behind her back.

"Betazoid," Tebok echoed, and it was clear he hadn't really heard of that species. It was one of the things more idealistic humans wanted to minimize, that humans tended to dominate Starfleet and thus non-Federation entities tended to associate Starfleet with humanity rather than the Federation. "Are there many Betazoids in Starfleet?"

"Not many. There are many other species aboard, however."

"Our scans indicated that your crew is mostly human," Thei announced with disapproval.

"True enough." Deanna looked to Jean-Luc and waited for him to take the lead again.

"We have an ongoing turnover -- service in Starfleet is voluntary, after all," he said casually, as if everyone knew that. "Would you like to adjourn to a more comfortable location to continue our discussion?"

That led to the two looking at each other as if asking whether that was a good idea. "The centurion will return to our vessel. I will remain to discuss our next steps in addressing the threat of the Borg."

"Of course. Deanna will show you to my ready room -- I will escort Centurion Thei to the transporter room and then join you there." He gestured toward the door, and led the way. In the corridor they all headed to the lift. Jean-Luc was thinking she had been correct in her approach, and appreciating that Tebok was settling down more than he'd expected. The lift traveled to the next deck, and he and Thei left for the transporter room.

"Bridge," she said. Off they went upward, for several minutes.

"What is your position aboard this vessel?"

She smiled again. "I am the ship's counselor."

It didn't tell him much. He paused, considering what it could mean. Vulcans had no therapists; she very much doubted there were any in Romulan society either. "You provide counsel when your captain requires it?"

"He is an excellent commanding officer, with years of experience. He rarely needs counsel." She went back to the serene smile of superiority. Slid her eyes left to look at him. "Do you have a counselor aboard your vessel?"

It amused him. A definite sign of progress, if he had relaxed that much. "I have had one in the past. We do not have one currently."

The lift stopped and the door opened. "This is the bridge. The ready room is this way," she said, preceding him from the turbolift. She didn't hurry, let him get a good look around as she casually led him down the ramp -- she nodded to Will and turned for the door. Once inside she turned to smile at him, gesture for him to have a seat on the sofa, and asked, "Would you care for something to drink? I could offer you something from Earth, or Betazed. I'm not sure how many Romulan options we have."

"Why don't you choose something that you believe I will like?"

She went to the replicator and selected something Vulcan, taking a chance -- the taste buds were likely very much the same and she doubted he would recognize it as a Vulcan beverage. She brought it to him, returned to fetch herself and the captain cups of tea. By the time she sat down, Jean-Luc was approaching the bridge with anticipation, and Tebok sampled his drink and raised his eyebrows.

"This is very good."

"It's something that I have enjoyed, a sort of root tea," she said ambiguously. The door opened; she turned her head to watch the captain come in. "Tea?"

"Yes, thank you," he said, stepping to the end of the sofa and taking up the cup from the table. "Commander, I've asked for additional information from our sensor sweeps for you."

Tebok blinked at Jean-Luc. "Forgive me, Captain, but I find myself questioning your motives."

"That would be understandable, given historical interactions between the Federation and the Romulan Empire." Jean-Luc might have been discussing the weather, his tone was that mild. "I don't see that obsessing about the past helps us move forward."

Tebok said nothing, sipped his beverage, and gazed at the captain with an unreadable expression. Deanna considered his mood, and decided that it was a good time to be more assertive. 

"How do you feel about changing the relationship between the Federation and the Empire?" she asked smoothly, even warmly, in a manner she had used to ask clients about their sexual issues, their most secret shame, their past indiscretions and affairs.

Tebok raised his head as if she'd struck him and his nostrils flared. For a moment she wondered if it had been too much. One thin eyebrow crawled up, and slowly descended. "The Empire does not come to treaties easily," he said quietly. "And I do not have influence in such matters."

"Nor had I assumed that you had," Deanna said amiably. "But I was interested in your opinion."

"I wonder if the Borg will change minds," Jean-Luc put in conversationally. "On both sides. I can't claim that there are not those in Starfleet who believe that there will never be a treaty with the Empire."

"It's easy to let old beliefs linger," Deanna commented. "Believing something is true can blind you to evidence of change."

"You believe a treaty is possible," Tebok said dubiously. He finished his tea and leaned to place the glass firmly on the table.

"Of course it is. We have non aggression pacts and treaties with wildly different species throughout the quadrant," Jean-Luc exclaimed over the cup he held. "Deanna helped me negotiate with the Sheliak just a few months ago."

"If you could call it negotiating. A few terse words quoting sections of the agreement between the Sheliak and the Federation is hardly a conversation," she remarked with a wry twist of the mouth.

"We are familiar with the Sheliak. How -- " Tebok stopped himself and looked down at the floor.

"I believe the negotiations were conducted by a diplomatic team of Vulcans," Deanna said.

The mention of the distant relatives of the Romulans gave Tebok a jolt -- but he did not react with animosity, or anger, or any other strong emotion. But there was a strange pensiveness. "I find myself wondering if the Vulcans have changed," he said. "Some among us continue to carry a great deal of anger. Many believe that too is a hopeless cause -- that there will never be an effort to seek peace with those who were left on Vulcan. Different groups rise and fall, over the centuries -- people who want revenge, or reparation, or peace and reunification."

Deanna turned to Jean-Luc with a sad smile. "How many centuries did humans struggle with internal conflicts?"

He snorted, putting his empty cup on the table as well. "More than have been recorded. It only ended when it became obvious that we were not the only species in the universe. When enough of us became disgusted with the continual cycle of self destruction."

"Do you believe that all the species currently expanding and exploring space in the Alpha Quadrant will be able to do so without bloodshed?" Deanna asked Tebok. 

"I have no opinion on that. It does not sound likely given the finite nature of the area." It was somewhat amusing, but he also felt a weary acceptance that suggested he might be perfectly aware that she was trying to draw him into conversation. He likely suspected for nefarious purposes.

"The Federation believes it's possible. The difficulty is convincing species to agree with them," Jean-Luc said.

Tebok looked around the ready room, lingering a moment to stare at the lion fish in its tank, and seemed to come to some conclusion. "Captain," he began, then broke off to consider his words. Likely doing as he had been. Thinking about his duty, or perhaps thinking about explaining why he simultaneously wanted to talk to them and not talk.

"I remember when I was a child studying Federation history," Deanna said, rather than waiting for him to continue. As she anticipated it led him to think about his childhood, which when she let herself look, allowed her to catch a glimpse of why he felt so many mixed feelings about memories of that period of time. She went on after a few seconds, after recovering. "I would imagine being on a starship, exploring the galaxy. Meeting new species for the first time and seeing new worlds."

"Has the experience met your expectations?" Tebok said, with more grim amusement.

"There have been many rewarding experiences. More stress than they tell you about, certainly more than a child would understand, but it's fortunate that I joined during a period of relative peace, when the species that have been contacted have all been as friendly as we are." Deanna shot a smile at Jean-Luc. "I hope to have a long rewarding career."

That set off a different set of memories in Tebok. And he almost felt wistful -- a kindred spirit, perhaps. "Well. I have taken enough of your time -- my crew will become suspicious if I am gone too long, as well. What will be most expedient in our current circumstance? I expect that, like us, you have not seen any of these Borg in your time on the Neutral Zone."

"No, we haven't. It leads me to suspect it was a scouting expedition," Jean-Luc said. "Unless you have information to the contrary? Have they been invading Romulan space?"

"This is the first I've seen of them," Tebok said slowly, as if giving away a state secret. Deanna knew he was trying not to lie.

"Good, good," Jean-Luc responded, nodding, clearly pleased with that news. "I'm glad to hear it. I've spoken to a refugee whose world was destroyed by this species. I'd hate to think they had taken your home world as well. It seems likely that awareness of this new potential enemy will spur the development of new weapons and defenses to counter the Borg. Our sensor logs should be useful to that end. Hopefully you will be able to use them as well to the same end."

Tebok stared anew at them, and she could sense him feeling shaken by that sincere assertion. After another moment he finally reached some conclusion. "When I return to my ship, I will contact my superiors and report what we have discussed. I will transmit the information that we have collected to you, as I feel that would only be fitting -- as you say, this is a threat to both our peoples. I cannot guess what will be done; I wouldn't presume to present a theory as to how your generosity will be interpreted, but I hope that they agree with our assessment and focus on defenses to prevent returning Borg from destroying worlds."

Jean-Luc nodded again, curbing an impulse to respond immediately; he was clearly aware that despite the progress it was still a tentative connection with the commander. "Thank you, Commander Tebok."

"Would you like me to escort the commander back to the transporter room?" Deanna asked.

"If he is ready to depart."

Tebok rose to his feet, and so Deanna followed suit. Jean-Luc stood and bowed slightly.

"I am given to understand that humans touch hands as a gesture of friendship," Tebok said, surprising both of them by extending his right hand.

"It's called a handshake," Jean-Luc said, reaching to take the hand firmly and demonstrate. "Thank you for your time, Commander, and for your cooperation. It gives me hope that we will be able to avoid being overtaken by the Borg. Do you think -- " He paused. "Would it be an unreasonable request, to ask that we each agree to inform the other if the Borg become active in our respective sphere of influence? While I would not expect help, I would guess that the Federation would come to the aid of the Empire, if it came to that."

"I can but make my report and issue a recommendation. It was an unexpected pleasure to meet you, Captain," Tebok said. He glanced at Deanna, who took it as a request and stepped around the table as Jean-Luc moved aside to allow her to pass.

Tebok followed her out to the bridge and into the lift. Once she'd sent them on their way he turned to her again. "You must be aware that I would view this encounter as a manipulation."

"The difficulty with being honest and having good intentions," she commented. "If we were truly trying to manipulate would we have done such a poor job of it? I will confess to a great deal of curiosity, but we are not here to gather intelligence on the Empire -- we determined early that the destruction was not an attack on the Federation by the Empire. Otherwise we would have continued to wait and watch. There was a point some time ago when we were called to the Neutral Zone after an outpost detected some of your vessels. As it turned out when we arrived we detected nothing. I wonder if that may have been the Empire's response to Borg activity on the zone?"

Tebok appeared to be holding his breath. He finally, as the lift stopped and the door opened, said, "Yes. We had a brief incursion on our side of the Neutral Zone. But it was felt that a continued presence there would be provoking to the Federation, so the vessels withdrew."

Deanna led the way down the corridor. "The Empire is either not ready for or possibly unwilling to start a war. I'm glad."

"I hope that it continues to be so. I wonder if it will." They arrived at the door to the transporter room. He halted, and turned to her. "Thank you, Deanna. You have been a most genial hostess. I hope to be fortunate enough to see you again in the future."

"You are most welcome. And I hope the same, as that would mean an amicable future rather than a violent one. Betazoids prefer more harmonious interactions with others." She smiled up at him and gestured at the door, turning to follow him as he went in.

Tebok said nothing more as she asked the chief to return him to his warbird, simply nodded in farewell as the transport began. After he was gone, O'Brien let out a great sigh. "A good meeting, Counselor?"

"I think so, Chief. Thank you."

She wanted to run through the ship. It would help her shed some of the nervous energy she'd been containing. By the time she got back to the ready room, she had done enough deep breathing that she was calmer. Will practically jumped up from his seat to watch her coming down from the lift, and Tasha grinned at her as she went by.

"We received a transmission a minute ago," Tasha exclaimed.

"Information about the Borg, yes, he told us he would do that," Deanna replied. "I need to talk to the captain. I'll be back in a minute."

They watched her go, smiling at her as she turned and headed into the ready room. No sooner did the door close but he pounced. Hugged her, and laughed happily.

"Captain," she chided gently.

"Tell me your thoughts. Tell me what you sensed. Was he honestly interested in talking to us and hesitating only because he thought his superiors would disapprove?"

"Why do you need me to tell you things you already know?"

This time they sat together, and he put his arm across her shoulders. His pride and his relief that things had gone so well radiated from him. "I have to say I didn't expect him to be so quick to calm down."

"He was very wary. I know that he had a difficult childhood, that he entered the service out of a need to be useful to someone. That he became a patriot and became disillusioned. Romulan society is complicated and there are many factions at work, and he grew weary of it."

"I think we might have been friends, if circumstances were different," Jean-Luc said.

"I think so, yes. Perhaps you will be, in the future. He expressed a similar sentiment before he beamed back to his ship." She leaned and rested her cheek against his shoulder. "Are we going back to exploration soon?"

"I'm going to contact Quinn and I think that we will, yes."

"Good. I stand a good chance of making it to that conference, if we're closer to the starbase it's on."

"Conference?" he echoed. Typically, he had become absorbed in the mission and forgotten. She'd told him weeks ago over dinner.

"I'm supposed to attend a neuropsychology conference on starbase 194. Remember?"

He did, finally. But he didn't like it. "You're going to be gone for a few weeks, then, if it's so far."

"There aren't so many conferences that I had much choice. I have to have some continuing education credits and it's the most relevant opportunity."

"I know, I'm not saying I don't want you to go."

"You just don't want me to go," she surmised.

"Of course I don't. I won't get any sleep until you're back."

Deanna sighed. She felt the departure of the Romulans, from the area. She knew that the bridge officers were relieved, and things were less tense across the ship as the warbird had vanished from the viewports. Closing her eyes, she patted her husband's arm. "You'll be fine, Jean-Luc."

And then he thought of something that made him happy again. She waited, but he didn't say it.

"What is it?"

"Greg said -- he suggested that time and space are different for Betazoids, that they can actually make contact over great distances."

"I'm only half, you know. I'm not sure that will work for me." She sighed again, as his happiness dwindled. "But I suppose we can try...."

 


	52. Chapter 52

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going to be out of town for a week, unable to update til I get back. So it may be a couple weeks. Business has been good, lots of new clients and that of course diminishes time for things like writing.
> 
> Skin of Evil was so lacking as an episode, in so many ways. So I am switching POV and taking a different slant on Armus, who was a magical Trek alien(TM) - able to "talk" to characters and do things as if he were omnipotent some of the time, despite being just a puddle of black slime. I ask myself - which POV character should I choose for the dregs of a species that is essentially emotions and urges they decided to discard? The one who is best able to "talk" to it. Of course.
> 
> Episode transcript: http://www.chakoteya.net/NextGen/122.htm

"Riker to Picard."

Jean-Luc opened his eyes and stared at the stars outside his overhead viewport. He sighed, and let the open book slide from his chest to the floor, reached up to rub his forehead wearily. "What is it, Number One?"

"I was wondering if you might be interested in joining us in Ten Forward?"

It must be after the shift change. The ship was in transit following a survey of a previously-unexplored system, on its way to meet the shuttle that would bring Deanna back from her conference. "You know, I might come down later. I was about to attempt a call to Deanna."

"No problem -- see you later. Riker out."

He closed his eyes again. The past three weeks had been a lesson he was learning thoroughly. At first, things were fine. Other than his senior staff paying close attention and asking too often how things were going -- he'd tried not to snap at them. He'd been fine for a few days. But then he started to feel restless. Deanna had contacted him via subspace the first evening, to let him know she and the lieutenant piloting the shuttle had made it to the starbase without incident, and to check on him. They had spoken each evening, after her meetings were over, and occasionally in the morning. Especially as he'd become more and more restless and started to lose sleep.

"Computer. Open a channel to Deanna Troi." Normally he would have contacted the bridge to initiate communication. A formality, the computer could do it easily for anyone, but it was the protocol for all outgoing communications for a reason. But no one had commented on the change in behavior, though he knew that whoever was at tactical was fully aware of the channel being opened.

"Establishing connection. Channel open."

After a pause, Deanna's voice came across the millions of kilometers between them, sounding as if she were sitting next to him. "Jean-Luc."

He clenched his teeth and inhaled, forcing the angst aside so he wouldn't sound pathetic. "It's good to hear you."

"We're a day away, Ben says. He's taking his turn at the helm. I just switched with him." She wasn't a pilot, but putting the shuttle on autopilot still meant someone had to be there to see alerts and get the pilot. Lieutenant Prieto had to sleep sometime. The shuttle was taking three days returning to the _Enterprise,_ had been traveling for two so far.

"Now I only have to endure for another day."

A heavy audible sigh, and silence for a few moments. She was tired -- and he realized then that the distance between them must be diminishing, that he could tell. His excitement at that development then triggered a low chuckle from her. "I'm not going to be able to catch up on my sleep when I get home, am I?"

"You're not complaining."

Another chuckle. "Think about me."

It was an odd request, but then he felt her, she had to be thinking about him, thinking about her hand on his thigh -- the sensation matched that act. He squirmed on the couch and laughed breathlessly. And started to think about reciprocating, eyes closed -- the connection was amazingly strong. It reminded him of the times they had dreamed together. The caressing felt real, before he knew it he was crying out -- and then they were both laughing.

When he returned to a better awareness of himself, in the living room, he knew he must have responded physically -- the uniform he wore was rumpled and he had obviously come in his pants. "Damn it," he exclaimed, sitting up.

"I wasn't expecting such an intense connection," she said -- she was out of breath as well. "I have been trying each night. It seems I'm not so impaired as I believed."

"I went back to the painting class as I mentioned," he said, slumping against the back of the couch. Fighting that lassitude he tended to have after orgasm. "But I don't think I can continue in the class."

"What's wrong?" she asked, going along with his change of topic.

He stared up at the viewport. They hadn't said anything about being separated, not beyond admitting that they missed each other. He'd wondered if she'd missed him as much. "Too distracted."

They were still aware of each other, somewhat, though the intensity had dropped quite a lot. "I had a difficult time at the conference," she confessed. "I hope that it did not interfere with the survey."

"Only because I wasn't directly involved in it."

Remorse, from both of them. Deanna said, "I should have canceled the conference."

"I suppose we had to find out the hard way."

"It won't happen again. I'm sorry."

Commiserating was automatic and shared, and then the angst dissipated. He closed his eyes again and drifted with her somewhere in the space between them. Until the chime brought him back to their quarters, all at once, and he came forward and realized he was still in the rumpled uniform. "Just a moment," he called out, hurrying into the bedroom. He returned in his robe and admitted the person -- it would be a senior officer, he knew. 

And so it was. Data came in with a pleasant smile in place. "Good evening, Captain."

"Mr. Data," he responded, half-questioning. He realized belatedly that he had never closed the channel -- that Deanna would be listening. She said nothing, however, and he could tell she was waiting and following his lead. 

"I did not intend to disturb you. I had thought that you might join me in the holodeck for a Sherlock Holmes simulation," the android said. And he continued, as was his habit, in his unnecessarily thorough way. "It has been difficult for you since the counselor left the _Enterprise_. I had thought that it would be easier as the time approached for her to return, but we did not see you on the bridge at all today and Dr. Crusher -- "

"Data, thank you for your concern," he interrupted as pleasantly as he could. "I'll be on the bridge in the morning." 

It didn't ruffle or startle the android -- he merely nodded and turned about, and left. 

"I hadn't thought it was that obvious to them," Jean-Luc said, turning to go back in the bedroom. "Computer, privacy mode."

"You were oblivious to how they were reacting to your moods, which seems to indicate you had some serious moping in my absence. Did you sleep at all?"

He rolled his eyes. She could tell well enough how he reacted to it. "I resorted to a sedative here and there."

"Captain," she chided, back to being the ship's counselor.

"I know. But neither of us knew what it would be like, did we?"

A moment of silence. "Tell me what it was like."

He sat on the edge of the bed and shook his head, thinking about how he'd lost interest in things he was normally able to do -- how hard he had to push himself to do daily tasks that had become habit long ago. "I was not this depressed before. I can't explain how I became that way -- I don't understand it. Rationally I have been fully aware that you were returning and I knew there was nothing wrong, and it makes no sense to me why it would affect me so. Unless I think about this connection we have, and how much I took it for granted."

"That isn't what it was like, but I think I understand," she said, amused by his usual obfuscation.

"Greg didn't tell me it would be like this." Greg Norman's lecture on romancing the Betazoid woman had made it sound quite different.

"Jean-Luc, you can't judge what will happen between us by comparison to others."

Again, she was feeling some regret. It was curious timing. "What are you not telling me?"

"There's more to it than just the distance," she said softly. "I wasn't trying to connect with you. Sometimes the opposite. I didn't want to disrupt your time on duty and I was afraid that I would have."

He was easing back to lie upon the bed and put up his feet. He sighed, fell back on the pillow and wished he was there with her. "What's wrong?"

She made a plaintive sound that made him want to hug her. "While I was at the conference a colleague came up to me and asked me if I knew. And that's how I found out my mother has handled my defection from the family by replacing me."

Jean-Luc flinched. "Replaced... how?"

"She's pregnant. She's trumpeting it to the news and announcing the heir to the Fifth House -- as if I never existed."

"Oh," he moaned. It resonated too well with him. "Oh, I'm sorry."

"I think part of your suffering was mine. I'm so sorry, Jean-Luc. I was surprised that it was so painful to hear, I was resigning myself to not talking to her again, not seeing her, but it's as though I still had some part of me that hoped she would come to her senses. It was a stupid notion, and I'm better now. I didn't even want to bother you with it. But I don't think it's fair to let you think it was all about being separated from me. I must have been so distressed I was projecting it to you."

"I'm going to have the bridge change course. There must be a way to meet you sooner."

"Let's get some sleep? I assume that's where you are. I'm sure I'll see you soon, tomorrow morning maybe?"

"Tell me something I want to hear," he said, not wanting her to stop talking.

"I love you."

"Hmmm...."

"I missed my last scheduled injection, so it's very likely I might be pregnant at some point in the near future."

That was something they had discussed, after the investigation into the destruction of the outposts along the Neutral Zone. He grinned. "I think that might be worth thinking about instead of how much I miss you."

"All right. Good night."

"Deanna," he said, with a note of complaint.

"You can't keep the channel open all night. I'll try to have pleasant dreams if you do."

He had to concede; his eyes were heavy. "All right. Good night, my love. Computer, close the channel."

A quiet chirp and he settled on his side, told the computer to turn out the lights, and knew she was still with him, albeit with less of a connection. Something about hearing her voice had helped. But she was happy, and he thought about having her home and with him in bed, warm and smelling faintly of the almond-scented shampoo she favored, sighing in her sleep. He fell asleep within minutes.

 

* * *

 

 

Deanna woke after six hours and took her turn at the helm so Ben could sleep. He looked as tired as he felt, as he surrendered the console to her. "Thanks. Get me if you need help. I'm just going to nap, we'll be back to the ship in an hour and a half."

"No problem, I don't know a Z axis from a crumpet so I'll shout if I need you. Thanks. Sleep well."

Ben scowled. "A crumpet?"

Deanna waved him off. He could ask the computer if he wanted. When he was in the back of the shuttle with the door closed, she turned to the console and studied the readouts. "Computer, replay tutorial on navigation."

She tried to follow along without touching anything. It was one of the things she'd never thought she needed to learn, but it would have made this kind of trip easier. While she listened, she detected when Jean-Luc woke and started his day. He was still happy. The closer she came to the ship, the easier it was to breathe.

Taking the three recovered people to the starbase on the way to her conference had meant staying busy -- it had been hours of what amounted to group therapy, discussing options for the depressed individuals recovered from the cryogenic pods. Clare at least had a thread of hope at finding some support -- her many-times-great grandchild lived in Chicago, currently, and had already been notified she was on her way. Offenhouse had a many-times-great grandchild as well, but he lived on some colony in another sector and refused contact. The singer, Sonny, had no one. All three had decided to return to Earth. Starfleet would help them for a while.

Once at the starbase, she had seen the three to the vessel that would take them the rest of the way and gone on to her conference. Two thousand psychologists from around the quadrant had gathered to discuss the treatment of anxiety, depression and trauma of duty officers, and she had presented on trauma on the second day. And at the luncheon afterward, she had to fence with her table mates who had known her as Troi and questioned her introduction to the room as Picard. There were strong opinions about the ethics of intimate relationships with other senior officers, and about Captain Picard specifically. Dr. Mason, one of the psychologists stationed at Starfleet Medical who routinely performed assessments of starship captains who had lost their vessel in action, had lodged his opinion separately, nudging her into a nook between sessions and asking her what she thought of Captain Picard's mental health at this point. She had known exactly what it was about. Mason had assessed him after the loss of the _Stargazer_ and hearing that Picard had married a subordinate caused him great concern. His questions were pointed and though his tone was not overtly aggressive, she could sense his ire. There was something going on and she didn't have enough information to guess what. Mason was testing her, looking for cracks and hints of issues. This might be what Quinn had hinted at before -- perhaps there were broader concerns in Starfleet Command due to issues with other officers of which she was not yet aware.

And then Jennifer Grant had approached her with the news about Mother -- the anger, the tears, all stuffed in tightly until she got back to her room and could scream at the walls. She'd gone right by several people she'd intended to speak to at some point, too upset to be presentable.

It hurt to do, but she'd disconnected from Jean-Luc until she was able to cope. She could tell from the sound of his voice that he was stressed. She had the suspicion that sharing her feelings would overwhelm him.

The tutorial ran its course, so she settled back after a quick survey of the readouts -- everything was green across the board -- and asked the computer for new messages. There were two, one from Senna, which she responded to; Russell continued to do well and Greg had gone back to his vessel, and she missed him. Deanna had spoken directly to Senna while at the starbase because she'd needed someone, and Senna had been concerned and reassuring. Deanna tried to be as warm and sympathetic as Senna in her missive, though she really was feeling emotionally drained at this point.

Once the message to Senna had been sent, to let her know everything was better and she was almost home, Deanna turned off the monitor. The other message was from another cousin, one she didn't typically speak to, and so it was likely someone wanting to know what had happened between her and her mother. That would be the last thing she wanted to talk about for a while.

She almost contacted the ship. But it was alpha shift and she wasn't going to do that. He was on the bridge where he should be. He was excited that she would be back soon, and she didn't need to disrupt anything he might be doing any more than that.

She was about to stand when the shuttle lurched and a light went yellow. Ben Prieto didn't need her to shout, he was out the door and displacing her at the helm. "There's an unexpected -- you should sit down, Commander."

Deanna dropped in the seat at the science console and watched Ben working. "Something's wrong?"

"I don't understand," Ben exclaimed at last. "There shouldn't be fluctuations in the warp field. Something's wrong. Contact the _Enterprise_ , I'm dropping out of warp, we need to have them come to us."

"Computer, open a channel to the _Enterprise_ ," Deanna said.

After a moment, Tasha's voice came out of thin air. " _Copernicus,_ this is the _Enterprise_."

"We're having difficulty maintaining warp speed," Deanna said. "There appears to be a malfunction, we're at impulse."

"It's not a malfunction," Ben exclaimed. His anxiety had soared and he continued to work at the panel. "Something's interfering with the warp engines. And the sensors -- my last clear sensor readings puts us somewhere in the neighborhood of Vagra Two. But our instruments are all over the place! I'm going to have to stop -- I can't navigate like this."

"We're on our way," came the immediate response from the captain. "Mr. McKay, best possible speed. Hold steady and keep the channel open, Lieutenant, we'll -- "

Lights started to flicker and communications obviously cut out, ending the reassurance before Jean-Luc could finish it. Deanna watched Ben try to do as the captain asked, but the panels started to go dark. And then they were helpless, sitting in complete darkness.

"They'll be here in a few minutes," she said, more for herself than for Ben. "We'll just sit here in space until -- "

The shuttle lurched, and started to shudder.

"I have no idea where we are," Ben said, his voice rising an octave. "That feels like -- we might be falling through the planet's atmosphere. Being pulled in by gravity. The sensors were scrambled when I got here. We traveled at warp for I don't even know how long without -- "

"Lieutenant, breathe," Deanna ordered, gripping the edge of the console in front of her. The shuddering increased and random jolts from side to side started, and then she was thrown out of the chair completely -- her head struck something and she was out.

She came awake with a headache and in the dark, disoriented and leaning up against something. "Lieutenant?" She struggled to sit up, and did so slowly, pushing against the vertical surface at her back. A sweep of the arm and she found something -- exploring it with her hands revealed that it was the chair she'd been in, and that meant the shuttle was probably sitting on its side and the computer completely dead. She ignored the pain in her back.

"Ben!"

No answer. Not even a moan. And she couldn't sense anything from him. There was, however, someone else. A very angry, very dark, overwhelming entity, very close. She knew somewhere out there Jean-Luc was afraid and now that she was awake he must be reassured, as that very quickly reversed itself -- his fear dwindled to anxiety and relief. In desperation she focused on him and tried very hard to pass him an update on her situation. For a few minutes they communed -- after getting there at high warp the ship was now in orbit around Vagra Two, and had the shuttle on sensors. The  _Copernicus_ had crashed on the planet, without even a thruster to use to brake, and that meant external forces were at work. Because there was no way a shuttle could survive a crash intact without power.

Deanna felt her way to the back of the shuttle, crawling into Ben, who was warm, had a pulse, was breathing, and probably needed medical attention. She found the latch at the back of the compartment and pulled, and fumbled around in the dark inside the tiny compartment of emergency supplies until she found a light. With the light on her wrist she quickly found a medkit and went back to Ben.

The entity she sensed was very upset now, in addition to being angry. Deanna tried to reach Jean-Luc, refocusing, but the shuttle started to move again, throwing her and Ben and other items around as it rolled and resettled -- now the floor was actually the floor again and there was a marked tilt toward the nose of the shuttle. She rolled Ben on his back and put a cushion from a chair under his head, then went to the door -- she pried off the small panel to the right of the door, breaking several nails, and peered inside. The manual release was hard to move. She had to pull with both hands, wrenched at it repeatedly, changing her angle of attack from time to time, changing her grip, and took breaks to push her hair, which had tumbled out of the clip, out of her face. She knew the atmosphere outside was breathable, as Jean-Luc had informed her he was sending an away team, so it wouldn't be fatal to open the door.

When the panels at long last popped apart a few inches, she hauled at them with all her might to part them further, but then there was a black wall on the other side -- glossy and almost metallic in the light of her wrist lamp. She stared at the thing and then it rippled. Shifted. Slowly, she put her palm against it -- in retrospect she should have used a tricorder, what a rookie mistake. Everyone fresh from the Academy knew better than to _touch_ things you hadn't scanned.

The glossy black wall was alive. She could feel the tingling against her skin, but it was almost eclipsed by the rush of connection -- it was as though she had become a touch telepath when she wasn't looking, feelings and thoughts flooded in.

Such loneliness and pain, being there for so many centuries. Armus wasn't quite what she expected. Not quite a life form, not quite anything she'd ever encountered -- mostly pain. It communicated in sensations and words and had no words. It probed and asked, and she offered up whatever it wanted. It wanted to be free. It wanted to be with others. 

[What are you?]

The creature gave her its story, and wanted to know if she would take it away from the planet. She thought about how the Federation would probably want to examine the situation and help.

She backed away, removed her hand, and at once the flood ceased. She could sense others once more. Tasha was just outside the shuttle, and Will too. Worf. Two others, who she did not immediately recognize. Jean-Luc was still connected and still anxious, and more so because he'd been able to sense from her what she had received from the alien, Armus. She intensified the connection and passed information along, a procedure becoming easier each time she did it, and begged him not to order the away team to move against the alien. To let her negotiate with it.

But it was too late - the black wall suddenly slid from the door, affording her a view of a desolate landscape of dust and rocks, and a few scrubby little trees. Worf was shouting in alarm and then she felt the pain -- from Tasha.

"Stop," Deanna cried out, to Armus -- though she was sure the alien had no ears to hear. She sprang out the door and was confronted by the sight of Will running, diving at a pool of ink black, falling to the ground and plunging his arm in. Worf and Data ran after him but grabbed his legs and the back of his uniform. When they pulled, Will had both hands around an ankle, and when the three of them managed to remove Tasha from the pool.

Armus started to move again, rising into a wave towering over them. Without thinking Deanna ran at them, got between the alien and her friends. She threw up her hands as if to signal for it to stop and as she touched the gleaming surface the wave crested and fell down over her.

It moved over and around her for another moment, and she pleaded for the violence to stop. Tried to convince it they hadn't meant Armus any harm. She appealed to the alien with all the sympathy she could muster for a lonely creature left for centuries on a barren planet and having no one to help. [Please stop. They can't communicate the way I do. They don't understand. You have to let me tell them. They don't want to hurt you, they think you want to hurt me. Please stop.]

When it finally capitulated Armus flowed from her and away into the rocks, seemingly disappearing. She knew it didn't go far. She turned and dropped to her knees at Tasha's side. "We need to get Prieto to sickbay as well. We need to go, now, it won't come back if we leave now. Leave it alone."

"All right," Will said, not understanding a thing but trusting her word. "Data, get Prieto. Riker to _Enterprise_. Beam up the away team plus two."

Deanna touched Tasha's face, pale and still, and started to cry. The transporter effect started and seconds later deposited them in sickbay, on the floor. There was chaos then. She was pulled away, but then Beverly arrived -- the doctor froze, standing over Tasha, swaying, and Deanna put her arms around Beverly and turned to Ogawa. "Get Dr. Selar," she snapped. "Dr. Meraz as well."

"Come on, Beverly," Will said, stepping up to tug on the doctor's arm.

The dam broke -- Beverly lunged toward Tasha as two of the medical staff were carefully putting her on a biobed, a sob working its way out of her, and Deanna caught at her arm while Will put an arm around her. Together they guided Beverly toward her office.

"She's alive," Deanna said firmly. "I know she's alive. Beverly, please sit down. I'm waiting here with you." She guided the doctor to a chair and made sure she was seated, dragged another chair closer, took Beverly's hands. "She's going to recover."

"Are you all right, Deanna?" Will asked. "You should get checked."

"Send someone in when they have someone available. They need to stabilize Prieto and Tasha."

Will heard the dismissal and went. The door hissed shut behind him, and Deanna took a deep, deep breath. Ignored the intense concern from the staff in main sickbay, and focused on Beverly. "We're going to be okay."

"What happened?" Beverly exclaimed tearfully. Her eyes started to focus -- suddenly she was concerned about Deanna. "Will is right, you should -- you're bleeding!" She reached to touch the back of Deanna's neck.

"It's nothing, really. Superficial." The headache was still there but had become less piercing, more like a dull throb. "The shuttle was tossed around. There is an entity down on the planet, it emitted a strong radiation that interfered with the shuttle's systems which caused the crash. It was trying to communicate with us."

Beverly was stunned. "This was the shortest mission -- we took less than twenty minutes to establish an orbit, and send someone down to find you. That was enough time for you to establish a dialogue with this creature?"

"I had to communicate using empathy. It doesn't think the way we do, it doesn't have words at all. It's actually... this is all irrelevant right now. I should save it for the briefing." She sensed Ogawa's approach, and the nurse came in seconds later with a tricorder and a few other instruments.

"Thank you, Alyssa," Beverly exclaimed, holding out a hand. Ogawa stared at her, a little surprised, but passed the tricorder over. Being a doctor was anchoring her more than talking about what happened so Deanna let her run scans and check her over. As she suspected she had a minor concussion and some bruising on her back, a cracked rib or two -- within minutes she felt better, with the administration of a regenerator and a hypospray.

Dr. Selar came in as Beverly finished up and sat back in her chair, closing the tricorder. Everyone turned to look at the Vulcan. "We have moved Lieutenant-Commander Yar into the operating theater. Dr. Meraz is preparing for surgery. Her prognosis is fair."

Beverly set aside the tricorder and clenched her hands in her lap. Back to near-panic. She didn't even ask about what kind of surgery. Deanna leaned and grabbed her hands, and forced a smile. "Was anyone else hurt?"

Selar's dark eyes shifted to hers. "No. The commander said that she was the only one attacked by the creature. She was attempting to stun it with a phaser."

"They were attempting to rescue Ben and I," Deanna said. "How is Ben?"

"He does not require surgery. He cracked several ribs and vertebrae. We are using the osteoregenerator and anticipate he will be released in the morning to light duty. He had minor head injuries but they were correctable without surgery."

"Thank you," Beverly murmured. "Please let us know when the surgery is done?"

Selar bowed her head and left the office. Ogawa followed, taking the tricorder with her. Deanna squeezed her friend's hand and waited with her.

"We were so worried about you," Beverly said at length. "When Ben contacted the ship I was on the bridge -- we were talking about the next mission, another one of these surveys of an uncharted system. Will was laughing about maybe finding some cure for boredom while we're there. I was sitting where you usually sit, and I glanced at Jean-Luc. He was smiling at it in that usual subdued manner of his and then his face changed -- seconds later the call came in."

"Yes," Deanna said softly.

"It's been so good for him, having you in his life," Beverly babbled. "I -- it's -- "

Deanna reached for her shoulders and pulled Beverly into her arms as she broke down. "It's all right, just let it go," she murmured.

Sometime while Beverly sobbed the captain arrived in sickbay. He'd probably heard from Will, Worf, and Data. He was out in main sickbay, perhaps checking on Prieto who would be under the clamshell of the osteoregenerator and attended by one of the doctors. Deanna realized that something had changed -- somehow she had a stronger sense of his physical proximity, where before she had to work at that kind of awareness.

Beverly was recovering somewhat, sitting back and taking the handkerchief that Deanna fetched from her replicator for her, when the captain came in -- he hesitated when he saw the doctor's reddened face and her mopping at her running nose with the cloth, and glanced at Deanna. It was a tense moment -- he was relieved to see her, but still very concerned for all sorts of reasons, and as their eyes met he wondered, and she let a flicker of a smile play on her lips.

"Captain," she said, rising from the chair. It was then that she tuned in to how disheveled she was. And tired, and she knew that when she was alone in quarters she would fall apart. There would be her own trauma and grief to deal with. He knew it as well, but was doing the same as she -- holding to maintaining the demeanor he had on duty no matter what he felt.

"Counselor, I recognize that you are needed here, but I'd like to talk to you when you're done."

"Of course. I told Beverly I would wait with her -- I'll come debrief after the surgery if that's okay, sir," she said.

"I'll be fine," Beverly exclaimed. "You can go. Don't let me get in the way."

Jean-Luc continued to gaze at Deanna, and they continued to exchange thoughts, and agreed. He stepped toward Beverly's chair. "I think I'd like to wait with you. She's my friend as well."

Beverly teared up again at that, bowed her head and brought the damp, wrinkled cloth back to her eyes. Then she recovered again, remarkably. She was feeling overwhelmed, anguished, but she was holding it together. "Thank you, Jean-Luc."

He almost asked a question, but closed his mouth again and looked at Deanna. She sat down again. "Maybe we should have some tea. It could be a while."

"They didn't give an estimate?" Jean-Luc pulled out the third chair, languishing in a corner, and sat facing them.

"No."

It was a long quiet wait. Deanna guessed about an hour had passed when Selar returned. This time Beverly leaped to her feet, her heart in her throat, unable to breathe.

"Sir," Selar said quietly, acknowledging Jean-Luc. She glanced at Deanna and addressed Beverly. "She is fine. We repaired damage to the cerebral cortex -- we will allow her to rest for a day and reassess. Dr. Meraz recommends that we refer her to neurology at Starfleet Medical. It's likely she will need another surgery. I concur with his assessment. She will not be conscious until the morning."

"I'm going to sit with her tonight," Beverly exclaimed. Turning, she asked Deanna, "Can you send Wesley to see me after school?"

"Of course. I'll contact his teacher when it's time."

Beverly followed Selar from the room, leaving Deanna there with Jean-Luc without a backward glance.

"Will said that Tasha seemed more emotional than usual when they were assessing the situation. He thinks she was leaping to action too quickly because you were in jeopardy." Jean-Luc sighed.

With Beverly gone, Deanna didn't feel so badly that tears were escaping and she couldn't stop them. "I was so focused on trying to communicate with the creature. It took all that I had -- it was so foreign and I had to focus narrowly on it to the point that I couldn't sense anyone else."

"If you're about to jump to the conclusion that you could have stopped this from happening, stop. That's a fool's game." He stood up and moved toward the door.

"You're right," she said softly, standing to follow him out.

"I would have to counter with my part, not being able to contact them when you told me to stand down quickly enough to prevent it. And we could bring in Worf to tell us how he tried to argue for using the ship's phasers instead of the hand phasers -- the creature covered at least a square kilometer when they got there, over and around the shuttle."

They walked through main sickbay, now empty. Prieto had been moved elsewhere, and Tasha was probably in the recovery room near the operating theater. Deanna followed him into the corridor and they headed for the lift. "Armus has been here for at least a thousand years. If I am to believe what it told me, it is the dregs of an advanced species that evolved past their flaws by somehow distilling and discarding their negative emotions and impulses, and leaving them here. I have the impression that the creatures were similar to him, amorphous and fluid and able to change state -- they were able to split somehow and leave Armus behind as it is, and it has enough awareness and sentience to feel pain. Anger and hatred for the ones who left it behind are the predominate emotions. I surprised it by being able to communicate and understand. It begged me for help. But I had to lie to it. I told it the Federation would help, to convince it not to harm us, but it isn't very intelligent and it has a concrete, simplistic thought process. There is no way that it has the intelligence to be trusted -- it would lash out and kill if anyone alarmed it in any way, just as it did Tasha when she used non-lethal force. The phaser didn't even damage it."

"Will suggested we destroy the shuttle and leave. Do you concur?"

They entered the lift, and he asked for the bridge. As the car went into motion she said, "I do. We should place warning buoys in orbit."

"Disturbing to think that malice and anger and hatred would have such longevity," Jean-Luc muttered.

"Yes. I can't help feeling pity for it. But it's barely sentient. It would be incredibly dangerous to attempt to study it to determine whether it could be rehabilitated in any way, at least without a Betazoid to facilitate communication, and I don't think we would be able to destroy it."

"I'll submit my report and leave it up to Command after we complete the debriefing." When the door opened, he stepped out, and she followed him down the bridge. He hesitated then went right instead of left into the ready room. "Senior staff, to the observation lounge," he said to Will, who stood to attention upon the captain's approach. "We should all debrief."

Deanna could feel their attention, knew part of it was surprise due to her disheveled appearance -- but Jean-Luc wanted to stop talking about it. This was the shortest most immediate path to that end. She shared his desire to just get off the bridge, start to process it on her own, so went with him into the briefing room as the other senior officers were notified by Will to join them.


	53. Chapter 53

Jean-Luc came into sickbay early, just before the shift change, and found the gamma shift staff still present. But Ogawa was there already, and came to him with concern written all over her face.

"I've tried to talk Dr. Crusher into bed but she wouldn't budge, sir."

That meant Beverly was being stubborn. As expected. "Can I go back for a visit?"

Ogawa nodded. "Tasha hasn't awakened yet. Let us know if that changes."

He wandered through sickbay, to the same room that Deanna had been in while recovering from her sword through the chest. Tasha looked lifeless under a gray sickbay blanket. Beverly had her arms crossed, her forehead resting on them on the edge of the bed, bent forward while sitting in one of the uncomfortable sickbay chairs. She probably hadn't moved in hours.

Jean-Luc touched her shoulder, then shook it lightly. "Beverly."

She jumped -- flinched, turned, almost slid out of the chair, shook herself and blinked up at him. "Captain."

"How are you?"

Beverly exhaled, her head swinging round and her eyes focusing on Tasha's face. There was a slackness to Tasha's cheeks that said something to anyone who had ever seen an officer in such dire straits. "I'm as good as I can be. I sent Wes home to bed. Where's Deanna?"

"She's still asleep. I overrode her usual alarm, and mine, so she would stay asleep. You should be in your own bed as well. It's not doing you any good to get hardly any sleep here."

She snorted at that. "I remember saying those words -- I wonder to whom?"

Both of them spun at the sudden interruption of a slight noise from the biobed. Tasha's head moved to the right slightly. Beverly lunged, grabbing Tasha's hand, and leaned close to hover over Tasha intensely. The patient moaned again, very quietly.

"Nurse," Jean-Luc called out. Ogawa hurried in -- likely had been hovering not far off to give them privacy. She checked the monitors over the bed and said Tasha's name a couple of times.

"She's not responding. Get a cortical -- "

"Dr. Crusher," Ogawa interrupted. "I'm going to page Dr. Meraz. You should try to remain calm."

"Of course," Beverly said at once. "Of course. Sorry."

"I'll be right back with the doctor, and she'll be all right," Ogawa said, turning to go.

Beverly gripped Tasha's hand and watched her face. "Jean-Luc," she said, expressing so much woe in that plea.

"I know. I'll be back later to check on you. I have a conversation scheduled with a couple of admirals this morning." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "I am told that it's likely Tasha will spend some months at Starfleet Medical. I want you to know that I will support whatever decision you make regarding whether you will stay or go with her, Beverly."

He didn't stay to hear an answer -- the tears gathering in her wide eyes were enough to send him running. He sent the lift to his quarters. As he thought, Deanna was awake when he got there. She sat up in bed as he entered the bedroom, blinked up at him, her hair standing up from her head like a frizzy halo. Without a word he went for coffee, sweet with a little chocolate, and brought it back to her. He perched on the edge of the bed facing her and held out the cup.

Squinting, she frowned but took the coffee. "Thank you," she murmured. A far cry from her usual morning profanity.

"Are you all right?"

His soft question brought on the tears, but they ebbed quickly and she drank some of the coffee. "I wish I had never gone to the conference."

"I know. I can think of a dozen different scenarios that I would have preferred," he replied. "Deanna, we need to talk. I had a conversation with Admiral Quinn, and he'll be contacting me again in a few hours along with another admiral -- he's questioning how we handled this."

"How -- what do you mean? You sent an away team -- there's nothing unusual about that, nor is there anything unusual about one officer attempting to save another," Deanna exclaimed, proving that she was at least alert enough to start thinking about it.

"Remember that Quinn had a preconception about us," he said, putting a hand on the covers over her thigh. "I think he's going to question anything in which we're both involved that goes awry in any way."

"Then this is going to cause you difficulties, isn't it?" she murmured into her coffee.

"Not so much difficulty that we're getting a divorce," he said with a twisted smile. "Don't think you're getting off so easy."

She sighed, and leaned to kiss him on the lips. "What are your orders?"

"For you? Do your job. Follow the doctor's orders. I know they checked you over finally, want you back in this morning, so you go back and if you are cleared you go back to duty. How was the conference, other than missing me?"

That put a scowl, not just a frown, on her face. She started to shake her head. "Dr. Mason was there."

"Mason," he echoed, puzzled.

Deanna eyed him and pushed -- they thought together about her experience, reconnecting in that way for the first time since she had been back. There'd been only time to deal with the fallout of the rescue and Tasha's injuries. She gave him what they'd been too tired to discuss last night, the rest of her experience at the conference. And his frown matched hers, as she shared Mason's line of questioning and what she had sensed from him, the disapproval and concern and even anger.

In turn, he thought about Quinn's face on the monitor, the concerned expression and his careful way of broaching the topic of how the incident had played out. It seemed there was more going on at Command than either of them had suspected. But, and they agreed on this, there were more important matters at hand. She wondered about Tasha, and he gave her what he had experienced in sickbay.

"I'm going to take a shower and go see her," Deanna said.

"And I will be on the bridge -- I'll see you after I speak to the admirals. Perhaps I'll invite you in while I'm talking to them, I think we might have a few questions they might need to answer for both of us."

"Yes. I love you, Jean-Luc."

He smiled, touched her cheek, and left the bedroom, on his way to the bridge with a new level of dread settling in his stomach. Between her experience with Dr. Mason and the way the admiral had been acting, he had an idea now of what they were up against.

 

* * *

 

 

When Deanna came into the semi-private recovery room, Beverly looked up from the biobed, and so did Tasha. Tired blue eyes and a faint smile were enough of a greeting to bring a happy smile to Deanna's face.

"You look better," she said, knowing from what she sensed that the joke would go over well.

"Hmm," Tasha managed. Her head turned slightly.

Deanna halted at the head of the bed and bent to look her friend in the eye. "Thank you, for coming to the rescue. I hope I can buy you a drink soon? It's good to see you awake."

"Mm," Tasha replied, making it obvious that there were still neurological issues. Deanna touched her forehead, stroking her short blonde hair back from her eyes, and glanced at Beverly.

"After discussing it with the other doctors we're transferring to Starfleet Medical on Earth," Beverly said. "I'll be going along with her. Wes asked if he could stay aboard."

"He did? Children can't stay on starships without a legal guardian, though."

Beverly had the resigned look in her eye that often appeared in parents of stubborn teenagers. "He suggested that we ask you and Jean-Luc to fill that role. He's not really a child any more, I'm afraid."

"He should ask Jean-Luc himself, then." Deanna could tell that talking about other things helped -- Tasha was probably everyone's focus, when they came in the room. It seemed to ease her anxiety slightly that she wasn't the topic of discussion. 

"That's what I told him to do." Beverly looked almost as tired as Tasha. At least she wasn't frightened as she had been.

"I can't stay," Deanna said, "but I wanted to check on you -- I'll be back this afternoon." She smiled down at Tasha again. "Want me to bring a clothing catalog?"

"Mm," Tasha said, her lips moving as if she wanted to say something else. The sudden urgency was probably something about duty. Tasha had a strong drive to excel in her career. Deanna thought she might be able to guess what her concern could be at the moment.

"You may hear from some of your staff, they'll want to visit you. Are you all right with that?"

Tasha smiled again.

"Okay. I'll let Worf know. See you soon."

Deanna made it out of sickbay, away from their faint, determined smiles, and all the way into a lift before her facade started to crack. A single sob escaped her; she clamped her hand over her mouth and closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. Calm. Calm.

The lift halted, the door opened, and Alia came in. She turned and faced front, standing to Deanna's right, and asked for deck two, then glanced sidelong at her.

Deanna let her hand drop and put her arms behind her back, looking at the floor.

"How is she?" Alia murmured.

"She's being transferred to Starfleet Medical. I don't think they know whether she'll improve."

Alia had been sympathetic, and that doubled with this news. "I know the two of you are close. I'm so sorry."

Deanna blinked rapidly to keep her eyes free of tears. "We haven't met in a while. We should schedule something."

Alia was silent for a moment - tense, contemplative, even calculating. "I think you are right. I have some time this afternoon."

"Fourteen hundred?"

Alia nodded, and stepped out of the lift as the door opened on deck two. "See you then."

Deanna watched her retreating back until the door closed, thinking as the lift moved up to the bridge about her assistant counselor and how she might address what she'd postponed addressing. It didn't take long to conclude that postponing again was the best thing. Discussions of whether this posting was the best fit for Alia would have to wait until after the current stressful fallout of the last crisis had passed.

When she went in the ready room, Jean-Luc looked up from his monitor with questions in his eyes. She sat down in front of his desk. "We're waiting for admirals to call?"

"We are." He studied her for a moment, and she knew this was the captain, being himself, sharply focused. "I know you and Lieutenant-Commander Yar are close. Are you sure you want to be here?"

"I am."

The last thing she wanted to do was listen to whatever the admirals had to say. Between the questions she'd been asked at the conference and the aftermath of finding out her mother had abandoned her for good, she already felt bruised and battered emotionally. Listening to Quinn pick apart Tasha's near-death experience sounded like too much. But the last thing she wanted to do was appear weak in front of Quinn -- it would be worse than being present. She settled into the chair, folding her hands in her lap, and spent a moment untangling her mind from his more than usual.

"Probably a good idea," he said, obviously detecting that process. "I think both of us being angry would not help matters."

"You haven't said much about Quinn lately," she said.

"For the better, trust me."

Deanna gave him a scolding look. Unrepentant, he sighed and turned again to the monitor. 

"Worf to captain. I have Starfleet Command, for you."

"Put it through to me, thank you, Mr. Worf." Jean-Luc glanced at Deanna, and she moved the chair forward, leaning in over the edge of the desk as he turned the monitor so there would be a more inclusive field of vision for all.

There were two admirals at a table together on the small screen, and both of them were quite sober and looking straight out at them. "Admiral Zenke is joining us today," Quinn said. "This is Captain Picard and Lieutenant-Commander Picard."

A flicker of some emotion she couldn't sense from afar passed across Zenke's face -- she thought it might be dismay. "Captain. Commander."

"Admiral," Jean-Luc acknowledged formally.

"We received your report, and your first officer's report. I have yet to see your counselor's report," Zenke exclaimed.

"My apologies, Admiral," Deanna said without hesitation. "I was in sickbay for some time, and sent to quarters with orders to rest after. I will complete it this morning."

"You can also tell me, now, what led to your shuttle crash."

"There is a creature on Vagra Two that has been there for centuries. It's an artificial life form. There was a civilization here that evolved beyond the corporeal realm, leaving behind the kinds of emotions that many species find a hindrance -- anger, hatred. Fear. It's unable to use language. It's a very simple and powerful creature, able to influence its environment to a degree. It sensed the shuttle and tried to capture it, and succeed in disabling it and bringing it down without killing us."

The admirals both raised their eyebrows at that. Quinn straightened up slightly. "You were able to deduce all of this?"

"I was in contact with the creature directly. I can deduce that it brought us down in one piece intentionally by observing that we survived, the shuttle was in one piece, we were alive, the lieutenant was injured. I was as well but not so severely. I was able to establish contact with the alien and communicate with it, as much as it was able to communicate with anyone." She sensed that Jean-Luc was waiting to speak, so waited for him to do so.

He glanced at her before addressing the admirals. "As you know, Betazoids are able to communicate telepathically."

"Yes," Zenke said drily. "I did review your report, Captain. You mention that she established contact with you despite having no working communications equipment."

"After the away team beamed down, we discovered that there were intermittent interruptions in communications -- we were not always able to reach the officers on the surface. We, as well as the away team, were unable to contact the counselor while she was inside the shuttle. The entity was completely covering the shuttle and blocked any attempt to approach it."

"And so she communicated with you telepathically, and informed you of her status. Warned you not to let anyone threaten it, but you were unable to convey that message quickly enough to prevent your security chief from making the attempt," Zenke summarized. "Counselor, were you providing the creature with reassurances and attempting to make peace?"

Deanna frowned at that. "I was attempting to communicate, but all of it happened very quickly. And as I said, this was a creature that was the embodiment of the negative emotions of a species -- there were some aspects of it that made it qualify as sentient, but only barely. It would never have been able to communicate with anyone else, even using the universal translator. It exchanged feelings and impressions -- it wasn't capable of complex concepts or of language. Telepathy wasn't precisely how I was able to connect with it; I am an empath, not a telepath. You would not fault a toddler for having a tantrum -- I wasn't able to keep it from lashing out when it felt threatened. It wasn't that controllable."

"But you were able to convince it to leave the rest of the away team alone," Quinn half-asked, clearly informed by Will's report.

"I was. I could not guarantee that it would not have attacked again, had it felt threatened again. The lieutenant-commander was clearly severely injured, as was my shuttle pilot. I advised the first officer to leave immediately."

"The creature took you, but it did not harm you," Zenke stated. "The commander described seeing you enveloped in it for a brief time, and then it retreated."

Jean-Luc looked at her, and it was clear he hadn't heard that before. She nodded slowly. "I could only communicate while in direct physical contact with it. Armus was very lonely, I was sympathetic, and I promised it help and that we would take it from that place. But I knew even then that would never be possible."

"You did what you believed was necessary to prevent further injuries," Quinn said. "I'm curious, Commander, whether you consider Yar to be a close friend."

That was an odd question, she thought. "I consider the senior staff to be friends, of course. I'm not sure why you are asking."

"You might remember, I would hope, the things Starfleet has taught all counselors about the influence of personal relationships on the professional?" Zenke said, in that tone of voice that carried sarcasm and condescension suggesting that she was in the wrong somehow.

Deanna ignored the flicker of alarm from Jean-Luc, and regarded the images of admirals with a stern, insulted expression. She let the silence draw out longer, and leaned in a little as she spoke. "My thesis paper was written on that very topic. I've presented on it at two conferences. More than half of my clients have played out hundreds of versions of the possible conflicts between the personal and professional. Yes, I believe I understand the possibilities quite well, Admiral -- and that leads me to conclude that you aren't fully informed, if you believe that there was some similar conflict at work in this situation. Lieutenant-Commander Yar was our chief of security and she took her job seriously. She is lying in sickbay unable to speak, on medical leave, not able to perform her duties, and she is still concerned about her staff. Would you like to be specific in your concerns, or can we dismiss this as mere suspicion and move on?"

She heard her mother's superior tone, in her short speech, and almost winced. She'd never liked that about her mother. But it matched the admiral's tone, and shocked Jean-Luc -- he was staring across the desk at her as if she'd just mutinied.

Quinn cleared his throat. "Commander, I understand that it is a sensitive matter, given your current situation, but it's a common enough issue -- "

Deanna tried to keep her tone matter of fact, but she could still hear her own tension as she interrupted. "My current situation? Which situation? Do you mean the situation in which admirals are accusing the ship's counselor aboard the flagship of the fleet of being ignorant of issues common to officers? Do you mean the situation where I've been traumatized by being trapped in a shuttle trying to convince a simple-minded alien creature not to kill anyone? All of this, duty-related trauma, relationship quandaries, I understand so much better than whatever it is you are questioning. Please help me by being specific, Admiral."

"Counselor," Jean-Luc said quietly.

Deanna turned to stare at him and wait, letting her arms uncross, folding her hands in her lap again. "Captain," she responded with the same undercurrent of tension.

"My apologies, Admiral," Jean-Luc said, turning to the monitor. "Technically the counselor is still off duty pending the doctor's clearing her for duty. As she has stated, she's been through a traumatic incident and needs assessment. However, I must concede to her point and request the same -- I'd appreciate more specifics as to what your concerns are, exactly."

Deanna cast her eyes downward and tried not to smile in response to his emotional response to this turn of events -- he was feeling pride and some appreciation for the way she had confronted the admiral. She bit her lip and kept herself from looking at the monitor.

"Counselor, you are dismissed," Zenke said after a moment.

She launched from the chair without looking at Jean-Luc, whirled and headed for the door. Once outside on the bridge, she composed herself and strode up to the lift with a smile in place.

It took an hour for Jean-Luc to come to her, as she slumped on the couch in their quarters. She looked up at him -- she'd been aware, of course, of the wild ride that was his emotional state since she departed the meeting with the admirals. He hesitated just inside the door, strolled over to sit next to her shoulder to shoulder, matching her relaxed posture.

"Should I be packing my bags?" she murmured.

"Oh, no, no. Not unless I do so as well." He was amused, in a dark, twisted way. "Thank you for giving me the complete rundown on what Mason said to you at the conference. It helped."

"It did?"

"Zenke used a phrase in discussing the matter of fraternization -- it was a bit too much of a coincidence that Mason used it while talking to you."

Deanna sighed and looked up at the viewports. They were still on their way to the nearest starbase. "I don't like this. Why are they doing -- whatever it is they are doing? Are they trying to prove that one or both of us is somehow unfit for duty because we're in the same chain of command?"

"It isn't something they said directly, but I am suspecting now that they are expecting me to fail. I think that between Mason, Quinn and Zenke they have discussed the matter and decided that we no longer have unbiased perspectives. That marrying you somehow constitutes proof that I can't be objective about my officers and their actions."

She closed her eyes. She didn't want to cry any more -- she already felt exhausted just from what she'd done today, which indicated that Dr. Selar's recommendation to take a couple of days of medical leave was indeed a good one.

"Don't feel so defeated," Jean-Luc said, taking her hand. "They can't accuse me of anything, nor you. Otherwise your defiant little confrontation would have blown up in your face."

"I was surprised they didn't scold me. I'm sorry, Jean-Luc, I shouldn't have done that."

"Don't be. You might have been less angry, but you timed it well and made your point without being too confrontational. And you managed to confront them without touching on the issue of our relationship at all, couched it in terms that made it clear you refused to go there, acknowledged only the professional side of the issue. I think it helped."

"I don't know what I should do."

He raised an arm and put it over her shoulders. "You should trust me, of course."

"Because you are always right. I forgot," she said, grinning. "Don't understand how I forgot."

"You've been gone for a little while."

Deanna covered her face with her hands. Tears were starting, not minutes after she'd been laughing at him.

"You should rest," he said, squeezing her shoulders. "It's still all overwhelming for you -- it's only been a day. What can I do for you? Some tea? A hot bath?"

In the end it was a combination of things, and after the bath and some chocolate she still felt somewhat anxious, since she couldn't stop thinking about Tasha. When she did, she started to think about the situation with the admirals. He had to go back to the bridge, of course, but he was reluctant as he could tell she was still struggling and didn't want to leave her alone. She left after he did and went back to sickbay.

Which, after discussing everything with Selar, led to another recommendation to continue to rest, and perhaps contact a counselor to talk to, via subspace.

And then she went to see Tasha. Worf was just leaving as she went in -- the Klingon nodded brusquely and sped by her as if being chased by tribbles. Deanna went into the room slowly, and caught Beverly leaning to kiss Tasha on the forehead. Beverly was crying a little. Deanna stopped, backed out the door before it could close, and leaned against the wall in the next room, hugging herself, trying to stop the tears. She managed it long enough to hurry back to quarters.

There wasn't anyone aboard she could go to, so she asked the bridge for an open channel to Senna, on Betazed. It turned out to be the middle of the night there -- she left a brief message. Then started to cry again.

Jean-Luc came home at the end of alpha shift to find her curled up on the couch. Sitting near her head, he put his hand on her shoulder. After a moment she sat up and slid in to lean on him. He said nothing, simply sat with her and held her for a while, until he suggested that it was time for dinner.

It felt strange that she was returning to the mundane things of daily life. But she knew that was how she would heal. She had come back from trauma that way before. Though this one felt different, and she suspected it would be a long journey back.


	54. Chapter 54

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leading into the first episode of the second season, wherein Pulaski comes aboard and Troi's "child" is born.
> 
> Much will be different in this rescripting.

"You were less restless last night," Jean-Luc said, bringing two cups of coffee from the replicator.

It was a week after they'd dropped off Beverly, Tasha and several transfers at the starbase, and now the _Enterprise_ was waiting at coordinates determined by an admiral, for the _Repulse_ to arrive and drop off their new Chief Medical Officer. Deanna smiled sadly at her husband and accepted the coffee.

"More progress, I suppose. But I wasn't asleep the whole night either."

"Hm," he commented. "Did you review this doctor's file?"

"Dr. Pulaski is more than qualified. I wonder if she will be a good fit."

"You have a new assistant counselor coming in as well," he said, knowing that to be true -- she'd finally had the awkward conversation with Alia, who had decided to move on as she had felt at odds for a while anyway with the difficult client that was the the captain, and it turned out she felt out of place in general. Deanna supposed that the ongoing unease Alia felt in her presence had a part in it as well. Some people were simply never comfortable around Betazoids.

"Someone with good experience, and male," she replied. "Lieutenant Bergen Busby. I think you'll like him."

"I'm not going to want to like him."

"Be that as it may." She tucked a spoon of yogurt in her mouth and swallowed. "Have you heard from Admiral Quinn?" His friend had contacted him once since the conversation with Zenke, to apologize -- evidently he had recognized how heavy-handed he had been with Jean-Luc. The conversation had given Jean-Luc a little more hope that the friendship might be salvageable.

"Not since the last conversation of which you are aware," Jean-Luc said, picking up a croissant. "I did, however, receive an urgent message giving us orders to proceed to 'audet Nine, to pick up bacteria specimens to transport them as quickly as possible to Science Station TS-243, to facilitate quick intervention in a plague currently afflicting the Rachelis system."

"So when the doctor joins us we'll be off," she surmised. "As soon as Geordi is done getting the warp drive back online, anyway."

"Yes." Jean-Luc gazed at her thoughtfully, his thoughts wandering, and she knew without even really accessing them that it was about her; he'd been nothing but supportive over the past week, focused on how she was recovering, telling her little about what was going on -- outside the staff meetings anyway. Left her be unless she wanted to talk, and set aside his sexual impulses without complaint -- she had been tired, and struggling with nightmares for a few nights, then with an insomnia that rivaled his issues last year, and she had been aware each time he felt and then suppressed attraction. Part of her wanted to tell him outright that was unnecessary, part of her wondered how long it would take for him to loosen up on his own. Or perhaps he was just waiting for her to initiate; he understood well enough that she sensed what he was feeling. It touched her deeply to have him being that supportive.

"I would like to go to the holodeck tonight," she said. "It's been a while since we've gone to Paris."

His eyebrows twitched up briefly, and a smile blossomed. "I think I can arrange that."

"Good. I have about half my day filled up with appointments and I'm meeting with Bergen at the end of shift. Then I'll come home and change into something you'll like." Deanna brushed her fingertips across the back of his hand as she leaned in to kiss his cheek. Then whispered against that cheek, "Do you have preferences?"

Rather than answer he turned his head and kissed her -- not the affectionate brush of the lips she'd been getting, but immediate open-mouthed contact as if he'd opened whatever cabinet he'd been keeping all that passion locked in. His hands came up to gently hold her head while he let his tongue mingle with hers.

They pulled back after a few moments but he wouldn't let go. His hands dropped to her shoulders. "Anything you want to wear. Are you sure you feel -- " He lost the words and gripped her shoulders, looking her in the eye.

"I'm fine, Jean-Luc. Thanks to you. I miss our friends, but it's better that they go get Tasha the help she needs -- I hope Dr. Norban is able to help her as swiftly as he did me."

"Yes," he agreed wholeheartedly. He stood up, and she got up with him and put her arms around him. "You're not helping me calm down before I head for the bridge."

She giggled and pressed her body against his. "Maybe I don't want you to do that yet."

"Deanna," he scolded, without sounding at all angry.

"The ship is back to work, we're back to work, and maybe I'm not completely done with the trauma but part of healing is to move forward -- and we did say we wanted children."

With the reminder he chuckled and held her tightly. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure that I want children with my husband, yes. And I'm sure I want you to make love to me."

"Probably neither of us would mind doing that right now, but I'll have to postpone."

"I'll let go when you do."

 They did so simultaneously, taking several steps backward, and he sighed heavily. "I'll see you later."

She grinned, watching him leave, knowing well how reluctant he was. They were so connected now that most of what passed between them any more was unspoken. He wasn't entirely conscious of it, but sometimes he showed how much he knew what she was feeling or thinking by doing something that confirmed it was a two-way bond. There was more synchronicity present than before. 

When she left for her office, she ran into Will in the corridor. He spun on a heel and walked with her. "I was actually coming to see you," he said.

"I haven't forgotten we're supposed to do this quarter's reviews -- I just have a couple more summaries to finish," she said as he fell into step alongside her.

"I know, it's not about that. I was hoping we could talk for a bit."

She slowed, glancing at him as they went in the lift together. "Is everything all right?"

"I was going to ask you the same question. Haven't seen much of you lately."

They turned to face the door, and she instructed the computer to take them to deck two. "I haven't been on the bridge often, I know. I have had appointments and I also have Selar's approval that I can take time off if I'm starting to feel overwhelmed. I still have some symptoms of trauma lingering, but I'm much better than I was. How are you doing?"

He hesitated, and she could tell that there had to be something going on with him. "I'm all right. But -- "

"Are you still upset about what happened to Tasha?"

Will frowned, leaning against the wall of the lift. "Yes."

"You're blaming yourself."

He didn't like that she could read him so well, but in this case it helped. Exhaling loudly, he stared at the wall opposite. "I can't help it. I replay the incident and I think I would have been able to prevent Tasha from -- "

"Will," she exclaimed, losing her patience. She collected herself and went on more calmly. "You should talk to Counselor Busby. As a friend, you already know I'm going to tell you it isn't your fault, and as that 'lucky' officer who managed to communicate with the creature I can tell you it had no advanced intelligence, no moral code, no sympathy for other creatures.  It was unpredictable and you weren't going to give any order that would have changed the outcome."

The door opened and he followed her down to her office. "I haven't met Busby yet."

"You should make an appointment with him. I can introduce you if it will help."

"You know," he began, as they entered her office and he veered right to sit on the end of her sofa, "I miss the times we would just talk about things."

Deanna settled at her desk and smiled sympathetically across her small office. "You would rather I spent more time with you? Whatever will people think, a married woman spending time with William T. Riker?"

He laughed at it, as she'd expected. "My intentions are honorable and friendly. And I know you're never going to mistake my feelings for anything else other than friendship, and what others think matters very little to me."

"You could always bring Randi for dinner. Not tonight though, we have other plans."

"All right. Maybe next week." He stood up and gestured toward the ceiling. "I'll be on the bridge." But he hesitated and gazed at her for a few moments.

"Will?"

"See you later," he said, striding out without explaining why he was upset suddenly.

Deanna stared at the closed door and decided to let it go, as she had so many times before when someone did something similar. She brought up her schedule and started to review the file of her next client.

* * *

 

"I have decided to move on to the pottery class," Data said while keying in a series of commands on the operations console. Though his fingers were swift Jean-Luc thought he was routing power from one department to another. 

"Did you ever finish the painting?"

Data half-turned to look back at him. "I did. I will frame it and hang it on the wall in my quarters. Would you like to see it?"

"I would like to see it, yes."

"You are welcome to stop in after alpha shift any time, Captain." Data waited for a few seconds -- the same calculated pause, probably guided by some self-generated algorithm he'd come up with. "Did you complete your painting?"

Jean-Luc sniffed at the thought -- his canvas was behind the desk in his quarters, in a corner, had been untouched for a few weeks. He'd started the painting in class and puttered and poked at it off and on in the privacy of his quarters for a while. Then Deanna had left and he'd lost interest. "I did not. Perhaps someday."

Data turned back to his panel, and something else lit up that required him to key in a command. "The instructor said that not everyone is cut out to be a painter," he commented, the turn of phrase sounding out of place when uttered in his cool, formal tone.

"I would agree with that statement."

"Perhaps you would join me and try pottery? You might enjoy working with your hands more than a paintbrush." 

If it had come from anyone else, he might have suspected innuendo. But Data was utterly serious. Jean-Luc quashed a smile and suppressed a sigh. "Thank you, Data, but I believe I'll find another hobby to try -- if I find myself with the extra time."

"Sir," Worf interjected. He almost sounded excited -- it must have been a boring conversation for him indeed if a transmission were so stimulating. "The _Repulse_  is contacting us -- they are arriving in ten minutes, and sending the doctor to us by shuttlecraft."

Somewhere there had to be some study correlating transporter anxiety with the medical profession -- there had been enough cases that it was a stereotype. Jean-Luc nodded. "Let the main shuttlebay know to expect them. Thank you, Mr. Worf. Bridge to Engineering -- do we have warp engines yet?"

"LaForge here, sir. We have another hour and a half, minimum, I'm afraid. We're working as fast as we can."

"As soon as possible, Mr. LaForge. Bridge, out." Jean-Luc sighed as he leaned back and watched the main viewer. The smaller ship appeared in front of them as if by magic, dropping out of warp precisely where they intended, and in a moment a shuttle left the other vessel, heading for the _Enterprise_. A turbolift door opened, and Will came down to cross in front of him to take his station. 

"I see the doctor is here," Will said. "Are we going to have a staff meeting to introduce her to all of us?"

"Perhaps tomorrow. She hasn't even reported for duty yet."

Will harrumphed quietly. "A shuttle, huh? She doesn't like transporters?"

"Have you assigned quarters?"

"I had the quartermaster prepare an officer's suite on deck eight. Have you spoken to her yet?"

"I have not," Jean-Luc said, knowing full well that was unusual. Losing Beverly and Tasha, and Deanna's obvious trauma, had preoccupied him and he had accepted the referral of Pulaski by the admirals without questioning. Now that he was focusing on it he started to have a bad feeling about that.

"Oh," Will blurted. "You know... I talked to Beverly right before we left the starbase. She said she met Pulaski before, said she's an excellent clinician."

"I'm not sure that's a ringing endorsement."

"I'm sure it wasn't," Will said with dark irony in his tone. 

"Perhaps we should greet this newest addition to our senior staff ourselves, Number One," Jean-Luc announced, rising and giving his uniform a perfunctory yank. "You have the bridge, Mr. Data. Get us under way at full impulse once the shuttle docks."

Will followed him into the lift, where they stood with hands behind their backs at parade rest. The turbolift took them to the main shuttle bay. "How's Deanna doing?" 

"Better. But it's difficult." They had already discussed how difficult it would be, losing the CMO and the chief of security as they had. 

"It's been a tough year for her all the way around. Good things, but also a lot of trauma, between the injuries and the way her mother's treated her."

"I have difficulty reconciling that," Jean-Luc exclaimed, stepping out as the door snapped open. "What mother would do such a thing? Almost unthinkable."

"I was shocked that she gave up the Troi name, but the way Lwaxana's acted is almost retroactive justification for that," Will said. "Once she's over it I think she'll feel better that she left the family. It looks like yours embraced her -- and having Senna to talk to probably helps."

The shuttle door was opening as they entered the main shuttlebay. A slight woman in the usual uniform stepped out, noticed them, and approached with a smile, a case in hand. "Well, hello," she exclaimed. 

It was an odd way to greet a commanding officer at the first meeting. Will cleared his throat. "Dr. Pulaski. I'm Commander William Riker, and this is Captain Jean-Luc Picard. Welcome aboard."

"Thank you, Commander. It's a pleasure to meet you, Captain. And it's an honor to be aboard, whether temporary or permanent." Pulaski's smile twisted to sad. "I was sorry to hear that Beverly had to step down."

A lieutenant brought out several large duffels and dropped them on the floor. He saluted in their direction and went in the shuttle again. Will glanced at Jean-Luc, stepped around the doctor, and picked up two of the duffels. Pulaski went back and took up the third one, slinging it over her shoulder.

"I've been looking forward to meeting you since I was asked to step in, Captain," she said, strolling along with them, apparently not hampered by the stuffed bag. "I've heard a lot about you."

Jean-Luc cast a wary glance at Will, who rolled his eyes and managed a one-shouldered shrug. "That might be a good thing," he managed.

Pulaski had a curt, staccato laugh. "You know, I think, that you have a certain notoriety within Starfleet."

This was starting to feel dangerous. "I do not," he replied stiffly.

"Oh," she said, startled.

"Sir," Will said, wearing his friendly smile, though a glint of mischief appeared in his eye. "The counselor asked me to remind you that you have an appointment?"

That was his opening -- but it rankled to have Will rescuing him. "Oh, I'll reschedule that," he replied.

"If you have an appointment with one of your medical staff, don't let me keep you, Captain," Pulaski said sternly. 

He looked askance at her. "Mr. Riker will show you to your quarters. If you will excuse me, I'll be on the bridge."

"Not in the counselor's office?"

He was walking away already, stopped, turned back to glare at her. "Number One," he said, then departed at a brisk pace for the lift.

In the back of his mind, he knew Deanna was concerned, had sensed his ire, and questioning. He waited for the privacy of the lift to sigh and give her the information she asked for. A moment later, the lift stopped short of the bridge and she stepped into it, then stopped the lift after the door closed.

"You have to give her a chance," she said quietly. 

"I do not," he snapped.

Deanna gave him the tolerant head tilt of forebearance in the face of idiocy. "Jean-Luc. People are talking about us at Command. Why would they pass up an opportunity?"

That was a ridiculously simple conclusion that he'd somehow not arrived at. "Fuck," he spat.

"Later, dear. Go sit on the bridge. We'll talk about what to do after I've met my new supervisor long enough to form a conclusion about her." Deanna leaned, kissed his cheek, and tapped the panel to let herself out again.


	55. Chapter 55

Deanna led Bergen into sickbay -- the easygoing, smiling man was about her age, had dark short hair and a short nose, and ten years of experience as a therapist with the last five in Starfleet. She suspected he would be a good clinician for some of the less willing clients.

"I'm meeting Dr. Pulaski for the first time too," she commented quietly. "She just came aboard to fill in for Dr. Crusher."

"Oh," Bergen exclaimed. "I was looking forward to meeting Dr. Crusher! I met her once at Starfleet Medical."

"She might be back -- it depends on whether a member of her family recovers. That must be her," Deanna said, following her sense of where Ogawa was into the operating theater where the nurse was talking to a woman with short, curly blond hair. The two glanced at them and Ogawa smiled.

"Counselor," Alyssa exclaimed. "I was just showing Dr. Pulaski around. This is Counselor Deanna Picard."

Deanna ignored the wide-eyed surprise and dropped chin at the mention of her name. "And this is Bergen Busby, my new assistant counselor. He came aboard a week ago. He's working with members of the crew especially ones that represent an ethical conflict for me. Lieutenant, this is Lieutenant Alyssa Ogawa our head nurse, and Dr. Pulaski, our new chief medical officer."

"A pleasure to meet you, Counselor, and Counselor," Pulaski extolled with good humor. "Alyssa, let's come back to the tour a little later -- I'd like to talk to the counselors for a minute."

They followed her through main sickbay to her office, where they were offered something from the replicator to drink. Bergen took tea and Deanna waved it off, thinking about dinner and Jean-Luc, and the end of the shift.

"So you're related to the captain?" Pulaski said, sitting down in the chair that used to be Beverly's with her cup of chamomile. "That's a little unusual, isn't it?"

Bergen gave Deanna a tiny grin -- they'd had that conversation already. His amusement was a nice change from the shock and wariness of admirals.

"I'm not related to the captain," she replied mildly. "In most cultures one does not marry relatives."

Pulaski's eyebrows twitched and she sipped her tea, hiding her surprise well. "You have a husband in command and you're a senior officer. Isn't that a conflict of interest, or something?"

"I would recommend reviewing my medical records and rephrasing that question."

That merited a brief incredulous look, followed by a smile. "I'll do that, if only out of curiosity as to why you think that would answer the question."

"Does it have to do with the time you jumped in front of a spear and took it through the chest for the captain?" Bergen asked.

Pulaski stared at him now. Deanna casually answered. "Or the way he handled the incident a week and a half ago. Or any of the other incidents since I came aboard, in which the two of us managed to be professionals working together, instead of wringing our hands about one of us being in danger. I'm still waiting for someone to produce proof that there is a real problem, instead of pretending there is one."

"I have to say I'm a little shocked to hear a counselor on this side of the fence about this issue," Pulaski exclaimed.

Deanna frowned at that. "Fence?"

"Just a saying -- most officers, and I'm talking flag ranks as well as line staff, see fraternization as problematic."

"Most human officers," Deanna corrected. "The issue I tend to have with human officers is the persistent way so many of them will make problems where none exist by creating false generalizations. There really is no standard to judge such things by -- and there is no regulation that covers relationship issues other than the generalization that personal affairs are not to interfere with duty. Officers have been brought up on charges after allowing themselves to break regulations for a friend but no one would think of outlawing friendship. It's a given that officers who serve together over time often become close friends. I was very close to Tasha -- when I was trapped in that shuttle she did her best to get me out of it alive, and I have no doubt that she would have done the same for any of us on the Enterprise, because that's what officers do for each other, so pretending that she was biased because we are friends is ludicrous. The only real problem that we have had here on the Enterprise has been the incorrect assumptions of others, about whether or not our relationships with each other interfere with duty. And frankly it's getting annoying."

Pulaski was grinning by the end of it. "Well. I have to say I have always enjoyed working with Betazoids. They do have a way of getting right to the point. But I would contest that they also have their biases, and share some of humanity's flaws."

"Perhaps. But I would avoid making assumptions about me based on your stereotypical Betazoid, however you see us. One of the things I have in common with so many Betazoids -- we have no innate need to prove we're right about things. I'll wait and let you correct your bias on your own." Deanna smiled innocuously and turned to Bergen. "As complicated as the chain of command can be, you might be called upon to help staff from the medical department we are technically part of -- including her. We can discuss that later. I have a counselor that I speak to via subspace when possible."

"Good. Betazoids are intimidating, subspace evens the playing field," Bergen said with a smirk.

Deanna giggled at that. "A roundabout expression of sympathy for my counselor?"

"See, there you go with that empathy thing," Bergen said. "I don't know how the officers on this ship manage."

"Empathy," Pulaski echoed.

Deanna could tell Jean-Luc was now waiting for her with great anticipation. She'd talked to Bergen for too long and now she was overstaying -- alpha shift had ended a few minutes ago. "Yes. My father was human, so telepathy is selective and empathy is inevitable."

"I've heard of that. I haven't met an empath until now -- I wonder why? I know it's not unusual for Betazoids and humans to pair off," Pulaski said.

"We don't tend to join Starfleet. We prefer more harmonious environments to live in," Deanna said. "Despite the inclusive mission of keeping the peace and finding strength in diversity, there still tends to be an unfortunate number of closed minds at large in the quadrant. Closed minds of different perspectives often clash. And Starfleet tends to involve people sustaining injuries, and pain can be overwhelming for an empath."

The doctor's icy blue eyes had a calculating look to them as she considered this. She picked up her cup and sipped the last bit of her tea. "I'm looking forward to working with you," she said at last. "I enjoy learning about people -- I'm looking forward to meeting your security chief, Worf, as well. The only Klingon in Starfleet." Her tone was back to easygoing enthusiasm.

"I'm looking forward to getting to know you as well," Deanna said sincerely. "We should have lunch tomorrow. At the moment, it's the end of alpha shift -- I'll see you tomorrow, Dr. Pulaski."

"Kate," she offered at once.

"Thank you, Kate. You can call me Deanna."

Bergen stood up with Deanna. "And you can call me Barry."

"That's better than Bergy," Deanna said, remembering. Bergen had been a year and a half behind her in the psychology program at the University of Betazed. They had run across each other in study groups from time to time.

"Infinitely." Bergen nodded to each of them. "If you'll excuse me?"

Deanna wasn't far behind him on the way out of sickbay. Pulaski followed along, and when Bergen had gone out into the corridor ahead of them she said, "I met your husband today."

Deanna turned back to smile at the doctor. "You met the captain today. Hardly anyone meets my husband."

"Now you're just playing games with semantics," Kate exclaimed, crossing her arms.

Deanna shook her head. "You'll see," she said, striding toward the door to leave sickbay. This time the doctor let her go without interruption.

She found their quarters empty, and changed into a red lace bikini then put on a red dress over it. She took another moment to brush out her hair, and applied just a vague misting of perfume to it. A pair of black heeled sandals and she checked her reflection in the full-length mirror. Jean-Luc was probably in the holodeck already, still anticipating, but with less impatience than before as he could tell she wasn't working; she enjoyed dressing up even if they were only going out to a simulation.

The corridor was empty as was the lift - one of the advantages of being about just after shift changes, everyone would be either on duty or eating a meal, not out wandering where they could find her in something other than work clothes. But the lift stopped moving in a direction she expected, took off to deck ten. And the door opened and the doctor came in. Of course.

"Oh," Kate exclaimed. "Fantastic dress!"

"Thank you," Deanna replied, mirroring the doctor's enthusiasm.

"Deck eight," Kate said as the door closed. "So is this 'date night?'"

"In a manner of speaking. It's been a long time since we've had a night out, thanks to the series of stressful situations and a conference I attended. Since we're en route to 'audet Nine and won't arrive til tomorrow morning, we're taking advantage."

"I was going to check out Ten Forward. Will I see you there?"

"Oh, no. We don't go there often. Both of us are more private than that -- I minimize socializing with clients as much as possible."

"And he doesn't mingle with crew much," Kate guessed. "Something you had in common, no doubt."

The lift stopped on deck nine, in a different section, and Deanna left it. "Have a good evening." She strode down the corridor. The doctor could keep trying to understand them on her own time.

When she entered the holodeck, she found herself on that same balcony, and her husband sitting on the bench -- he smiled up at her as she smoothed her skirt and sat down next to him. "Hello," he said, pleased to see her.

"I'm sorry that I was not here sooner. I hope you can forgive me."

"No question about that. You met the new doctor?"

That anxiety about Pulaski would only bother him until she told him. "I did. She didn't know we were married, so I doubt she is in some admiral's back pocket. But she has an opinion about fraternization. In the long run, that may be to our advantage. It will mean she's watching us like the proverbial hawk, and when she doesn't see anything amiss she's quite likely to bluntly put it out there that there is nothing to criticize, if anyone bothers to question her on the matter."

"I did notice she was of a forthright nature," he commented, though as usual his feelings were stronger than the casual-sounding statement would convey.

"You don't like her."

He smirked, looked up at the night sky above them, at the lights on the tower over their heads, and sighed. "Perhaps not."

"Do you like me?" she asked puckishly, wriggling over to lean on him.

"I do indeed." His arm went around her as she'd hoped, and he came in to kiss her as she wanted.

She loved holodecks, where at a word your seat could become a bed, and the rest of the galaxy locked out with another word. It meant they could be under any sky, on any planet, and without a soul around. After he peeled away her dress, then her brassiere, he guided her back in the silky sheets and pushed the panties down her legs before kissing her again and letting his hands explore. It left her to pull at his shirt until he finally broke away to help her get rid of his clothing.

Merging emotions was a matter of degree now, and it felt as though they were riding the waves of an ocean. Merging bodies added the physical ecstasy -- she knew when he came that he was thinking ahead, and very happy -- thinking that this might be the day she conceived. She held him and waited, eyes closed, for a few moments of his usual post-coital lassitude to pass, and thought about how much joy Senna and her family had shared while they were aboard, how much she loved her husband, how much joy they would have together when they had their own child.

"Bridge to captain," came the voice of Lieutenant Vross, the gamma shift watch officer. The Denobulan had a gruff manner and sounded perturbed.

"Picard here," Jean-Luc murmured as he rolled slightly away from her, begrudgingly accepting the interruption.

"You left word to be notified when high warp was finally possible. Engineering has informed us we will be able to adjust speed to warp eight in five minutes."

"Excellent. Make it so. Good night, Mr. Vross."

"You had dinner in mind," she murmured, tracing her fingernail down the back of his neck. He returned to sprawling across her and considered the question along with her. It led to asking the computer for some assorted finger foods and lounging under the night sky of Paris while feeding each other and sipping champagne.

"I wonder if I might impose upon you for a foot rub," he muttered around a canapé.

"Is that all you want?"

"Ah, no. Not all I want. One thing."

Deanna extended her toes, stretching her legs, and wriggled against him, holding up another hors d'oeurve. "You want everything."

"Yes." He took the morsel, and bent his head to lick a bit of cheese from her breast. 

"You have everything?"

He smiled, playing his tongue across her nipple. "Almost. Do you?"

"Lower," she whispered, smiling as his tongue trailed along down her abdomen, making up for lost time. It was so nice, not having to tell him everything. Having someone who just knew what she wanted. He agreed with her and gave her the tongue-lashing she hoped for, while she purred and hummed and hoped for a few hours without a red alert for once.

 

* * *

 

 

Jean-Luc went through the morning talking to staff, the people on the starbase, and looking at the containers that Geordi and his people had put together with the new chief medical officer. She approved at last after long recitations of the specifications of the containers to hold the deadly bacteria that they would be transporting. With that, they left Geordi to complete the arrangements to transfer, carefully, the hundreds of samples to the individual containers for transport.

"You have a good crew," Pulaski exclaimed. 

Jean-Luc eyed her briefly and continued to stride purposefully forward, thinking about his wife. She was in session -- he could tell, as she had the preoccupied, serious tenor to her emotions that she always had when dealing with someone's emotional turmoil. The doctor followed him into the lift. He suspected she would follow him to the bridge, and she proved his hunch correct, not specifying a destination herself.

"Do you mind if I take a moment or two of your time, Captain?" She asked without the bright, cheery tone that put him on edge. He glanced at her and almost sighed at the serious look on her face. He could almost hear Deanna telling him that it was in his best interests to establish a rapport with his CMO, at least a good working relationship, and nodded.

"Since engineering is handling the more delicate tasks, and reports can be reviewed later, no. I do not mind."

She followed him out of the lift and got caught up in her first visit to the bridge, nodding to Will with a subdued smile, gazing at Worf -- the Klingon's scowl didn't phase her -- and as she realized he hadn't stopped and was entering the ready room, she hurried down and into the door before it closed behind him.

"Such a magnificent vessel," she exclaimed, accepting his offer of coffee. "That's the android, at ops?"

"Mr. Data. An excellent officer."

Pulaski cocked her head. "I thought -- well. Perhaps I'm just going to have to toss out all the things I believed and start over."

Jean-Luc sat down, holding his coffee in front of him, the sip he was about to take paused. "Doctor?"

"I spoke with your wife yesterday. I wasn't aware you had one. Admiral Miller said that you tend to be formal, all business and all about duty. So throw that expectation to the curb." She made a flinging motion with her right hand.

"Or not," he replied, forcing a slight smile.

Pulaski rolled her eyes. "And an android -- how does a machine have the intuition, the insight, the people skills required to be an officer in charge of a department?"

"You should talk to Mr. Data about that. Ask him if he paints -- he'll show you his last one, it's done in the style of Degas."

While she was sipping coffee and trying to come up with a response, the annunciator went off. Will came in. "Sir, we're about three hours from departure, at the rate the samples are coming aboard."

"Thank you," he replied. Then, remembering what Deanna had said to him over breakfast, he added, "I understand you're coming to dinner tonight?"

"You got your orders too," Will said with a lopsided grin. "Randi and I will be there with bells on."

Jean-Luc raised an eyebrow. "At least we'll hear you coming."

Will was chuckling as he left the ready room, and Pulaski was smiling. "It's nice to see you're not all entirely formal. I like to make a few friends along the way."

"Well, I suppose you'll have to see how that goes. Have you had a chance to meet all your staff?"

"In the walk through yesterday. I was hoping there would be a senior staff meeting today. Though I've met most of you, I think." She had an amused smile again. "I meant what I said before. It is an honor to be here. I think we got off to an awkward start yesterday."

That sounded less abrasive, anyway. Jean-Luc regarded her soberly over the rim of his cup. "You've come aboard under less than ideal circumstances. Dr. Crusher is a good friend, and -- come," he called out, as the computer interrupted again.

This time it was Wesley. He stopped, mouth open at the sight of the doctor. "I can come back, sorry, sir," he stammered. 

"Come on, you should meet our new chief medical officer," Jean-Luc exclaimed, waving the boy forward. "This is Wesley Crusher, Dr. Crusher's son. He's stayed aboard for now, still attending classes in our school and working on career goals. This is Dr. Katherine Pulaski."

He came up alongside the chair and smiled down at the doctor. "Hi."

"Well, hello, young man," Pulaski exclaimed. "I'm surprised -- why wouldn't you go with your mother?"

Wes gaped at her, looked to Jean-Luc, then smiled again. "Well... she's going to be busy, taking care of Tasha. And I was in the middle of school, and -- the captain was my dad's best friend, and I kind of want to stick around and keep getting to know him. And he's letting me do some stuff in the lab."

"Wes has a knack for warp physics and other such magical phenomena," Jean-Luc said. At least this was keeping the doctor from talking about less comfortable topics.

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Crusher. I suspect I'll see you some time if you ever need medical attention?"

Wes shrugged uncomfortably. "I guess."

"Did you want something?" Jean-Luc asked.

"I came up on our afternoon break to ask if it's okay -- some of the engineering department are having a pool party in one of the holodecks after alpha shift, and it might run a little later than my curfew, Ensign Teo invited me to come, her son Manuel is in my class and he's going, so I wanted to clear it with you before I went."

"What curfew?"

Wes gaped. His mother had had a strict curfew set. "Really?"

"Your mother's on Earth. You're seventeen -- why would I keep you to a rule set when you were fourteen? Go have some fun, as long as you get yourself to school in the morning on time."

"Okay! Thanks!" Wes bounded for the door, disappeared through it, and the door snapped shut behind him.

"I'm not so sure you should have done that," Pulaski said. "He's seventeen. Do you really think he'll wake up and go to school on time?"

"He'll figure it out."

Pulaski put her empty cup on the edge of his desk. "You're going to be one of those permissive parents who learns the hard way, aren't you?"

That was irritating, to say the least. "The boy is about to be a man, and Beverly was allowing him to make decisions for himself -- she allowed him to decide to stay, after all. I'm hardly going to start cracking down on him now. He's doing very well for himself. Let him make a few small mistakes here, if he has to make them at all."

"All right," she said in that tone that suggested she knew better.

"Since I'm not a parent yet, you can hardly make snap judgments," he said without thinking. "Wes is living on his own at the moment. If he were in Starfleet he'd be making these decisions on his own anyway."

Pulaski's eyebrows climbed. "So you want to be a parent?"

For an answer he gave her a mildly-insulted look and drank the rest of his coffee. "Do you have children?"

"I do not. Never had that ambition. Like many Starfleet officers, I see it as something that would distract me from my work."

Jean-Luc glanced at the picture he had added to the corner of his desk behind the monitor, out of sight of guests. His brother, his nephew, his sister-in-law, standing in front of the house. "You have talked to parents, I would assume. Being a doctor."

"Oh, I know all the usual reasons -- it's a biological imperative after all, to reproduce."

He thought about how determined he had been, years ago, when he sounded like Pulaski. He had been that smug and sure of himself. While he was indulging in the moments of rumination and self-recrimination, Deanna sent along the equivalent of a warm hug.

"Captain?"

He caught himself smiling -- in search of a distraction, he picked up the picture of his brother's family and passed it to her without thinking about it. She leaned forward to take it, puzzled, and studied the picture.

"This is your father and mother?"

"My brother and his wife. Taken when we were there for our wedding. We were raised in that house, and he's still there."

"Ah. Your nephew, too, I'd assume."

"René. He wants to be in Starfleet." When she passed the frame back, he returned it to its place next to the picture of Deanna in the wedding dress. After a moment of staring at it, he picked it up and against his better judgment passed it over to Pulaski as well.

Her eyes softened and she smiled warmly at it. "A traditional gown. Beautiful."

"Yes."

Pulaski pressed her lips together and seemed to be withholding her opinion. She kept looking at the picture. Then set it on the desk and picked up her cup again, to finish off the coffee. "I don't think I would have been able to predict that you would marry. I thought I would find a ship full of officers like me, given your reputation."

"They gave me a ship full of families, Doctor. There's a school full of children on deck twenty. Didn't they tell you that?" The implication wasn't entirely correct -- he knew it sounded as though he hadn't been uncomfortable with that. He was still ill at ease with the younger children, had struggled through Captain Picard Day with Deanna's help. But it was true that the _Enterprise_ now suited him better than before.

"Well. Thanks for the coffee -- may I return to sickbay, sir?"

"Of course. Thank you, Doctor."

He took the picture back from her and watched her leave, then settled back in the chair and stared at the picture of Deanna standing tall in her white gown, looking at the camera with a warm smile and joy in her eyes. He smiled and returned the frame to its corner, and turned to the reports waiting for his review. 

 

* * *

 

"I guess I need to meet the new doctor?" Randi asked. She was happy today, smiling and relaxed, which Deanna took to mean things were going well with Will.

"Dr. Pulaski is not Dr. Crusher," Jean-Luc commented archly.

Deanna rolled her eyes and leaned to nudge her husband, shoulder to shoulder. "He's trying to like her. She isn't as easy on him as Beverly."

"She thinks I'm a martinet," he complained, picking up his wine glass.

"You were," Will commented. He lounged in his chair across the dining table from them, glancing at Randi with a fond smile. "You're lucky he's reformed, he'd probably want you to recite regulations or come to attention."

"I had lunch with her today." Deanna smiled, thinking about the conversation that had been a little more relaxed and less like an interrogation. Pulaski appeared to be adjusting her expectations. "I introduced her to Worf -- she was fascinated by him."

"I bet -- she seems like she'd get along with Klingons," Will commented.

Deanna had been the one to endure the questions about Worf after the brief introduction. Worf had typically said very little, felt uncomfortable with the social situation as usual, excused himself to go sit in a corner and drink something while sitting stiffly upright. Geordi and Data had come in so the engineer could eat lunch while they talked about the current task, moving the sensitive cargo and keeping it intact for the duration of the three days at high warp, and they too had been introduced to the doctor. Data, unlike Worf, had talked openly, and Kate had started to ask questions.

"She should have been a therapist," Deanna said, putting her spoon in her dish of ice cream. She'd wanted fudge over dark chocolate ripple and added chocolate curls. "Now that she's spoken to Data she has infinite questions about him as well. She's an explorer, but has more curiosity about people than space."

"Does she have a good bedside manner?" Randi asked. "I mean, she's here to be a doctor after all."

"Since none of us has hurt ourselves lately that remains to be determined," Will said. "I'm not planning to -- someone else can volunteer."

Deanna glanced at Jean-Luc and decided not to comment. She wondered if Kate were a decent obstetrician, but they hadn't talked to anyone about planning to have children and that question would best be directed to the doctor, in confidence, she thought. Jean-Luc's sensitivity to the subject remained though he was still very focused on the idea and hopeful.

"What was that look about?" Randi asked. Will picked up his wine and sufficiently hid his amusement and curiosity.

"Look?" Deanna replied coolly.

Randi wagged her finger back and forth, between the two of them. "You just gave him one of those sly looks that tells me something's going on. Not sure what it could be, but it must be good."

Deanna looked at her husband again. He sighed, shrugged a little, and sagged in his chair. He was tired; he didn't like boring days when he had only administrivia to focus on. To her surprise, Jean-Luc actually smiled fondly and said, "Deanna might have to visit sickbay soon."

"Are you all right?" Randi exclaimed, leaning forward a little. Will's smile vanished and he straightened up in his chair.

"Of course," Deanna said, taking another bite of ice cream.

"She might be pregnant," Jean-Luc said, being sly again though he was trying to put it out in an offhanded manner.

That was a telling moment -- both their guests turned to each other and bright smiles blossomed. "Well, there you go," Will exclaimed. "From extreme discomfort with kids to planned parenthood in a year -- I guess I need to start a betting pool about when the baby will be born."

Jean-Luc was upset by that, but Deanna smirked. "Don't you have to wait until there's a pregnancy to guess when the baby's born?"

"Sure, but that'll take no time at all, won't it," Will exclaimed.

Deanna shrugged. "I am a hybrid. It could take a long time, if we rely on natural conception. What will likely happen is I'll have to go in for hormone injections so conception will be able to occur."

"I thought Betazoids and humans could have children without intervention?" Randi asked.

"They can. My parents had no difficulties at all. Hybrids are all unique, though, and most of them need a little help when it comes to childbearing," Deanna said, unaffected -- she'd been told by doctors a long time before, and it wasn't news to Jean-Luc either.

"So you'll be able to conceive naturally, just with a little help." Randi smiled again.

"Do you want to have children?" Deanna asked. It was, she knew, an awkward question -- she expected them to make a joke or laugh it off. But Randi and Will looked at each other seriously.

"More wine?" Jean-Luc asked Deanna.

"A little more. It's good."

"Robert thought you would enjoy this one," he said, up-ending the bottle over her glass. "Looks like you'll be sleeping well tonight."

"I'm not drunk," she scoffed.

"Tipsy."

"Yes," Randi said calmly. It took a moment to register that she wasn't talking about Deanna's alcohol intake.

Jean-Luc stared at her, then rose to his feet. "Another bottle, I think."

"That sounds a bit backward, if you go the traditional way, doesn't it?" Deanna said with a grin. Neither of them had mentioned an engagement, let alone a planned marriage.

Randi's sly look at Will said she was up for teasing him, which was a good sign. Teasing meant they were confident about each other. "We do seem to be skipping a step, but not necessarily. It's just talk so far."

"I'm trusting that if she's in a hurry she'll tell me," Will said casually. Deanna thought there was more to it that he wasn't saying, and schooled herself to not react, to keep the amused, happy smile in place.

Jean-Luc returned with another wine bottle. It appeared to be a different kind. He met Deanna's eyes briefly and smiled. "Yes, it's not the same. You'll like this one too. Will, have you given any more thought about to what we were discussing -- I can put in a good word."

Will was silent for a few heartbeats too long. Randi stepped in. "Are you thinking of taking a promotion, Will?"

"Thinking, not deciding," he said, uncomfortable. He gazed at Deanna, flicked his eyes up to Jean-Luc. "I guess the hesitation gives me the answer. I don't think I want to go just yet."

"Our good fortune, then," Jean-Luc exclaimed, reaching across to add wine to their empty glasses. He set aside the bottle and picked up his own glass. "To Commander Riker, first officer of the _Enterprise_."

Deanna raised her glass with theirs, sipped, and relaxed as the conversation moved on to other things -- Randi watched her while Will asked about whether Jean-Luc had heard from his brother lately and the chances of getting a few bottles for himself. Deanna gave her a fond smile, and she seemed to take that as reassurance, and sipped a little wine herself.

Life was good, Deanna decided, despite the usual drama of Starfleet life. She enjoyed her evening with friends, until they departed and left them to head off to bed. She fell asleep in her husband's arms and slept well for the first time in a week. They dreamed, and she awakened feeling much improved. It was so much easier to have Jean-Luc being content. He was still asleep so she thought about the last months and what it had taken to get there. She'd have to send Tasha and Beverly a message -- tell them before Will did about her intent to have a child. That was the kind of news they would want from her.

 


	56. Chapter 56

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, The Child. The imponderables:
> 
> how does a non-corporeal alien floating randomly through space manage to insert itself in a woman who's probably on birth control, figure out how to change her chemistry around then trigger a pregnancy for itself? 
> 
> how does the pregnancy manage to be completely painless? alien can control the host's body to that degree, why doesn't it just take up residence in the host for a while like other non corporeal aliens we've seen? 
> 
> Pack a pregnancy into a few days and she should be eating everything in sight -- yet do you see her eating constantly in the episode? Unless it's canon that Betazoids are like air ferns, what the hell? 
> 
> Star Trek doesn't ever do real radiation, it does magical woo woo radiation that serves the desired plot for the episode, causing only selective sorts of damage.
> 
> How is the genetically-identical-to-mom kid male?
> 
> How does the kid completely vanish in a flash -- a body does not just go poof. Matter and energy don't work that way. The alien came, built itself a body, and... takes the body with it? Nukes it in a flash of light? Was Ian a hologram?
> 
> Troi is pregnant. Pulaski is talking to her in TEN FORWARD instead of sickbay or somewhere *private* about her health.
> 
> And the staff meeting -- why is the captain OH HAI TROI IS PREGGERS GUYS -- poor Deanna. And then she gets to sit through the doc's powerpoint presentation on her baby, and THEN they get around to why we're talking about this in a staff meeting, and Troi has to inform everyone that btw, it's some weird alien invasion, she didn't forget her birth control. And Worf wants to kill it. I could spend another page on the shades of badness of this staff meeting. If it's got to do with official business start with the business, guys. Co-workers do not have meetings about health issues of co-workers! 
> 
> Why are we thinking this alien means anyone harm? So far it's just taking up space... they haven't even figured out about the radiation, which conveniently doesn't do much at first. Shall we count the episodes where alien lifeforms endanger the entire ship and they choose other paths? See: Emergence. Galaxy's Child. Imaginary Friend. Etc. Etc. and so on...
> 
> If security is really that much of a concern, they could give her options -- or why doesn't she even suggest that she just leave? The ship is on an important mission to save billions of lives from a plague and the radiation endangers the mission. Drop her off and pick her up later. Put her on a shuttle home so she can have the baby elsewhere. 
> 
> Why does the episode not show any realistic reaction on Troi's part to the fact that an alien invaded her womb? 
> 
> The ridiculousness of security officers in the face of an alien who can cause spontaneous conception - WTF? It's kinda like Q. You don't fling security officers at Q and get anywhere. Why does the alien who can cause a child without the usual biological mechanism get no respect?
> 
> Why does Riker think it is remotely OK to sneak in and watch her give birth? Data is the only one with permission to be there! Like, why is sickbay designed to facilitate voyeurs? If in the future it's totally permissible for people to walk in on your medical procedures, I ain't joining Starfleet!
> 
> Troi cries a little and gets over it? Anyone who has ever lost a child, or known someone who has lost one, wants to kick the writers in the nuts over that one. Losing a child wrecks you for a while.
> 
> Why, if the alien can communicate with Troi in its point-of-light form, did it not ASK PERMISSION IN THE FIRST PLACE before slapping a Baby On Board sticker on that? Why can't it communicate while it's gestating to tell her it's just hanging out? She could have conveyed the concerns of the crew and discussed the problems -- if it could do so much so magically, why couldn't she just tell it to turn off the radiation? But it waits until the end of the episode.
> 
> I'm going to guess here that the people who wrote this episode have never had children, have no science background whatsoever, cannot distinguish science fiction from fantasy, or perhaps think we are all very stupid.

Deanna left her office around ten hundred hours and headed for sickbay. With a two hour gap in her schedule she thought she would be able to get the doctor's opinion of what she might need to facilitate conception. Kate was in her office, and no one else around, when she arrived.

"Deanna," Kate exclaimed happily. Then she seemed to realize the time. "Is something wrong?"

"I wanted to ask you for an exam. I'd like an idea of what it will take to conceive."

That same happy grin people tended to have at such an announcement brightened Kate's face. "Really," she exclaimed. And then she collected herself and her demeanor changed to a more professional smile. "Well, then, let's have a look."

She rose and came around the desk, and followed Deanna back into main sickbay. Deanna got on a biobed as asked and lay patiently with her hands at her sides. A few minutes passed. She sensed the shift to concern and looked at Kate's face, to find the doctor staring open-mouthed at the console on the side of the bed.

"Doctor?"

Kate was recoiling, setting aside shock and started to run more scans. "It looks like you won't really need my help," she said casually.

"What?" Deanna snapped.

"You appear to have managed to be pregnant without intervention. I know you've probably been told that Betazoid-human hybrids often have difficulty, but it looks like it's not always the case."

Deanna let her head fall back on the stiff little cushion and stared at the ceiling. "I'm pregnant," she echoed, disbelieving.

Kate glanced at her face with a curious smile. "Isn't that what you wanted? I admit that I was shocked, because you're right, it's more often that hybrids have difficulty."

"It's odd. Even if I weren't a hybrid it would be odd. I would expect it to take longer."

Kate went quiet, as she focused and ran more scans -- Deanna was surprised that she wasn't narrating her actions on the patient's behalf, it was quite a number of scans, but waited and tried not to be too tense.

"I think you should come sit with me and have a cup of tea," Kate said at last. Her change of mood was enough to put Deanna in shock. Something was wrong.

Deanna sat up, then slid off the biobed. Kate was already walking, leading the way to her office. When they were seated with the desk between them and cups of tea in front of each of them, Kate finally looked her in the eye.

"Deanna, the baby is half human, half Betazoid. It's about four weeks along. She's a girl."

"Weeks?" Deanna blurted. "Four weeks ago I was on my way to a conference! I cannot possibly have conceived a child at that time."

"Then this is stranger than it appears," Kate said.

"Half Betazoid?" Deanna asked, as it finally registered what that meant. She inhaled deeply, trying not to panic. Her hand went to her abdomen out of reflex.

She knew he was on his way, so when Jean-Luc came in the door, she didn't look up with wide eyes as Kate did. He sat down next to Deanna as if invited to do so and looked at his wife, intent and concerned. For too long she struggled against fear, unable to speak. She was so upset she couldn't even connect with him and simply share the thoughts -- she shook her head, while tears started to leak from the corners of her eyes.

"Doctor," he said at last, questioning, turning to look at Kate.

"I'm pregnant," Deanna blurted.

His entire focus returned to her, his startled eyes fixed on hers.

"It's not -- it's half Betazoid. Like me. It's four weeks along. It's impossible," she whispered, her throat burning.

"Impossible," he said, trying to understand.

Kate stepped in finally. "The baby is genetically identical to Deanna. I have absolutely no idea how -- there is no precedent for it, no explanation I can give. But the sensors make it clear that it's true."

That sent him into a quandary, and he took a moment to wander in his own fear -- but the captain came to the fore. He brought his eyes up and set his jaw, and she felt him settle, and with a great deep breath she did her best to do the same.

"Do Betazoids...."

"No," Deanna said, shaking her head. Kate was surprised by how calm she sounded. "No, she's right, there's no precedent -- our reproduction is the same as a human's, requiring two parents. And you know there is no way that I could conceive four weeks ago. You know why I could only have conceived in a narrower window of time. I was still on birth control and then I was gone at the conference. There was no chance of it, until I returned, because I never -- there was no possibility of conception."

Jean-Luc touched his comm badge. "Picard to Data."

"Sir?"

"Review the past forty-eight hours of sensor logs -- specifically internal sensors. Then report to sickbay. We are looking for anomalous readings to explain an unexpected outcome."

"Understood, sir."

"What are you doing?" Kate exclaimed. "Sensor logs?"

"I don't know, but it's a place to start," Jean-Luc said. "Is there anything else?"

Kate leaned on her desk, her tea forgotten at her side. "If you're correct and conception wasn't possible four weeks ago, the fetus is developing at an abnormal rate. I need to run more tests."

"Then run them." That was an order, from his stern tone.

But Jean-Luc didn't leave sickbay, when Deanna followed the doctor out. Kate glanced back and forth between them but said nothing, led her to a different biobed -- Deanna knew this one from when she'd been stabbed and Beverly was doing deep scans to check on how the injury had healed. When Kate closed the clamshell over her Deanna's heart fluttered and she gasped at the soft click of the two halves coming together.

"Deanna?" Kate asked, sounding worried.

"Old trauma," she said with a grim smile. "I hate this bed."

Jean-Luc touched her shoulder, then brushed her hair lightly with his fingers. It was enough of a distraction to let her refocus and calm herself.

"It's amazing," Kate said after a few moments.

"What's wrong?" Deanna asked.

"If I go by appearances you're fine -- the baby is healthy and so are you. If I look at the scans we took just a bit ago, and compare them, it's absolutely impossible. Babies don't develop like this. She's now six and a half weeks along, judging from the increase in size and weight. I've never seen anything like this, at any point in my career, and I spent two years at Starfleet Medical where pregnancy was a frequent thing," Kate said in wonder. "At this rate you'll be having a baby just a few days from now."

"But -- "

"This is fast becoming a day for impossibilities," Jean-Luc said darkly. 

The door opened, and Deanna knew it had to be Data -- she sensed nothing. She couldn't see him from where she lay, but his voice came from somewhere near her feet. "Captain, I have completed a review of the internal sensor logs. There is one anamolous reading at two hundred forty-one hours, brief and gone before it set off an alarm."

"Let me guess. It was in deck seven, section two."

"Yes, sir. An energy source penetrated the hull and terminated within your quarters. It was Eichner radiation, which is not normally present aboard the _Enterprise_."

Deanna caught the sob, so as a result it sounded more like a strangled noise. Jean-Luc's hand slid down her shoulder and rested there. "I think it may have been generated by a life form of some kind. Some form of intelligence, at least."

"It appeared to be transient radiation -- all starships encounter phenomena that emit such radiation. Our systems are designed to counter -- "

"Yes, of course, Mr. Data. Have the internal sensors detected any other occurrences of this specific kind of radiation?"

That led Data to think about it for a moment, and then he said, "Computer. Scan the _Enterprise_ for any radiation source that is not accounted for by ship's systems. Are there any sources with an energy emission identical to the alert from two hundred forty-one hours? Identify any matching signature regardless of the level of the exposure."

Meanwhile, Kate recovered from her shock at this discussion and came to Deanna's left shoulder to lean in slightly. "This sounds like wild speculation," she murmured. "I'm sure we'll get to the -- "

"One source identified matching parameters," the computer said pleasantly. 

"Location?" Data asked.

"Biobed four, in main sickbay."

"Has the source been continuously emitting radiation since coming aboard?"

"Affirmative."

"Current radiation levels?" Data's calm was at odds with the alarm from Jean-Luc and Kate.

"Point seven mSv."

"That's far less than a dangerous dose," Kate exclaimed. "No wonder the internal sensors didn't sound the alarm. There are devices on board used daily that emit more than that."

Data wasn't done yet. "Computer, is the current level of radiation the same as measured when initially detected, at two hundred forty-one hours?"

"Negative. The current level represents an increase from point two two four mSv."

Deanna closed her eyes and lost track of what was being said. She cried, trying not to panic, trying to breathe without sobbing and attempting to regain control. Pulaski had started to argue with Data. Deanna didn't care -- she wanted this to be over. She wanted it to not have happened at all. That the radiation was increasing terrified her. 

"Deanna," Jean-Luc exclaimed. It broke through her fear, and she opened her eyes to find him there, concerned and still being the captain, but when she looked in his eyes she saw more than that. He knew she was reeling and he was afraid for her, wanting to do something and feeling helpless.

"It's up to the patient. It's her baby." Pulaski was pointing at a monitor. "Data, this is a life form. You don't simply beam a child out of its mother for study."

"I am not suggesting that, Doctor," Data said patiently. "I am saying only that until we are able to communicate with it caution is warranted. If the counselor -- "

"Data, stop," Jean-Luc snapped. Then went on without ire. "Thank you. Report to the bridge and remember that this is the counselor's health information and not something to be shared without her permission."

"Yes, sir." Data retreated and she heard the door open and close, meaning he was gone.

"Let me out," Deanna blurted, suddenly feeling trapped under the clamshell. She shoved against it desperately. 

"All right, just relax," Kate crooned, but it only made it worse. When the sides of the biobed were retracted she almost fell off as she moved, and Jean-Luc caught her arms. 

"Deanna. Breathe." He sounded so calm. 

She shook her head, more tears coming and anger hard on their heels, at herself for being this out of control more than anything else, but it wasn't fair -- she sobbed. But he gripped her arms, knowing how she felt, and the tightness of his fingers anchored her solidly. Raising her head, she finally took in a deep shuddering breath and stopped feeling as though she were falling. 

"She needs reassurance," Pulaski exclaimed, disapproving. 

That in itself was grounding. Now she wanted to defend him. Deanna smiled. "Thank you, sir. I'm feeling -- " A wave of nausea swept through her. She pitched forward, as her breakfast ejected itself on her shoes and his boots. 

"Morning sickness?" He wasn't upset, at least. 

"Deanna," Kate insisted, now coming around to touch her arm. "You need to tell me what you want to do about this." She passed her a cloth and watched her wipe her lips. "I want to help, tell me how you want me to do that. Do you want to remove this before it -- does whatever it does? If it's as the android and the captain are suggesting, an alien life form attempting to become a person?"

"I don't know what to do," Deanna exclaimed plaintively. "It hasn't done anything destructive so far. It hasn't shown any intent other than to -- do whatever it did, to make me pregnant. I don't know what will happen next -- what if it simply leaves again and then I have a normal baby? If it wanted to do any harm why hasn't it done so? What if the radiation is a byproduct of the process it used and not an intentional thing?"

"If you're going to let it continue as it is, I suspect you will want to wear something more comfortable very soon," Kate said. "Your dress is already getting too tight."

"I want to go home," Deanna decided suddenly. She very much wanted to be in her quarters, and tried not to cry again.

"Doctor?" Jean-Luc said. He hovered, stepping in closer, putting a hand on her elbow. "You're sure you want to leave sickbay?"

The concern in his voice reminded her -- grounded her again, brought her back to reality. Her stomach flopped and she staggered a little, and he caught her and braced her. 

"I think you should be here, in a more private area, under supervision," he said. "I'll stay with you."

That alarmed her, brought her back from her situation with a yank. "You should be on the bridge," she said, raising her eyes to his.

"The intensive care has appropriate biobeds," Kate said. "I want to monitor the fetus and I want her here so I can intercede if something goes wrong. I'll bring back a sufficiently loose dress for her to wear." The doctor turned to head for her office.

Jean-Luc went with Deanna, through the surgical bay and the recovery area to the back corner of the sickbay complex. She walked on her own and noticed with the movement that her dress was indeed tight around her waist, and getting uncomfortable. She suspected that he would order her to go, if she didn't do so voluntarily, and that was enough to help her set aside the desire to go home.

"You shouldn't let this keep you here."

"Deanna," he interrupted. "If it were any officer with a wife in this situation, I would let him go be with her. Stop it. Removing myself from the bridge is the best thing for the ship at this time."

"It's going to get ugly, Jean-Luc. It's hard enough to have a full ten months of pregnancy, this is going to be compressed into a few days. And I don't know what's going to happen. I don't want to endanger anyone."

She sat down in one of three chairs standing to one side in a corner, and he sat in another one, turning it to face her. "I'm not going anywhere. We need to talk about this."

Deanna watched him take off his vomit-stained boots, then he leaned forward almost out of his chair and pulled off one of her shoes. It was enough to jar her out of her strange detached state she kept almost falling into and she raised her other foot to remove her other shoe. "Talk about what?"

"This is an alien life form you're hosting. You don't have an obligation to carry it."

Deanna's head felt odd; her ears had started to ring. He sounded too calm, and it frustrated her. The tears she had finally stopped were starting again.

He took her other shoe from her and dropped it to the side, with his boots, and reached out to take her hands. "Deanna. Look at me."

She tried, but he was blurry. "It's a child. It's...."

"Children don't give off radiation, Deanna," he murmured.

"I can't decide," she whispered. "I can't kill it. Even if it isn't a child. It's not doing anything to harm anyone."

He wasn't convinced, but didn't debate it. He gripped her fingers and pulled, she let herself be drawn forward, and found herself in his arms, both of them standing, chest to chest. He was unfastening the collar of her dress when Pulaski arrived. Deanna could tell she was startled and watching them.

"You can leave it on the chair," he said without feeling perturbed that he was being observed in the act of taking care of her.

"When you're done changing I'd like to put a fetal monitor on you, Deanna." Footsteps retreated from the room.

"She thinks I'm a martinet," Jean-Luc murmured in her ear. He started to peel her sleeves off her arms. "How shocking to find the stiff old man taking care of someone."

"I feel so strange," Deanna murmured. "I feel -- "

The room started to spin, and when she tried to cling to him, she couldn't touch him. Things were insubstantial, and then everything went away.

 

* * *

 

 

Jean-Luc picked her up and put her on the nearest bed. He didn't bother finishing with her clothes; she needed intervention. In response to his shout, Pulaski ran in, followed by Ogawa, and with one look at her unconscious patient she went to work. Monitors sprang to life at her touch. Very quickly the doctor seemed to take a breath and relax, upon seeing what was there.

"She's obviously overwhelmed by this," Pulaski said. "Alyssa, please get a hypo of trovilanine. I also want you to start giving her intravenous fluids -- this is putting a huge drain on her body. She's starting to show signs of dehydration."

"Yes, doctor." Ogawa hurried out again.

"I'm going to go change. I'll be back momentarily," Jean-Luc said.

Pulaski turned to him, which was in a way reassuring -- if Deanna were in any real danger at the moment, she would be entirely focused on her. "Captain."

"Doctor?" he prompted, leaning to pick up the discarded shoes.

"This is an unprecedented situation. Yet you don't appear to be worried."

He glared at her, and turned to go. "Take care of my wife, Doctor."

The ship's corridors were quiet, at the moment, and he made it to his quarters without running into anyone. He changed out of the uniform and put on plain dark brown pants, a white shirt, and stared at nothing for a few minutes, trying to collect his wits and think about this more before acting further. Time was short. He had to get back to sickbay.

"Picard to Riker."

"Riker here."

"Come to my quarters. There's something we need to discuss."

A brief hesitation, and Will said, "Aye, sir. I'll be there in a minute. Riker out."

It took a few moments to consider and then gather a few items -- he anticipated being on hand to distract and reassure until some action was taken, either giving birth to the baby or having it removed before then. Having some of her favorite books to read to her would give them something to do. By the time he came out of the bedroom, Will was signaling for admittance. He came in, concern all over his face.

"You have command until further notice," Jean-Luc said. "I'm going to sickbay. Deanna will be there for an unknown number of days."

Will gaped for a second. "She was fine, the other night -- what happened?"

"Mr. Data can brief you on the sensor data. An entity entered the ship early this morning and evidently, for reasons yet unknown -- " He felt ridiculous saying it, but it was as it was. "She's pregnant. Somehow, this -- whatever it is, created a clone of her, and it's currently gestating while emitting a low level of radiation that is so far harmless. We have no idea what's going to come of this."

That took another few seconds to sink in, and Will jumped straight to the same train of thought he had gone through. "Surely she's going to have it removed? If it's -- what if it starts to give off lethal levels of radiation? What if this is some form of unusual invasion, like the parasites on Earth?"

"I don't know, Will. But think about the ramifications of this. What would you do in my shoes?"

Will frowned at the floor. "If you order the doctor to remove it in the name of safety, for her or the ship, you're telling a pregnant wife to abort."

"An officer," Jean-Luc corrected. "Without sufficient cause. The alien will have to demonstrate that it is a danger to crew or to the ship."

"So you're going to wait, and watch."

"I'll keep you posted. In the meantime, get those samples to TS-243 as quickly as possible, and log me as being on family leave. I need to get back to her."

Will started to turn, but hesitated. "Are you all right with visitors? Calls from admirals?"

"If an admiral wants to talk to me, contact me. No visitors for Deanna until she authorizes it. I don't believe that she will for a while."

"Understood. I hope she's better soon," Will murmured, then turned to stride out the door and head to the lift.

Jean-Luc sighed, and looked around the living room as if there might be something else he could take with him. After a moment he shook off the lost feeling and departed for sickbay.


	57. Chapter 57

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why would a "benevolent" entity invade another life form?
> 
> Why would a noncorporeal alien be visible to anyone at all once it leaves the host?

When he arrived in sickbay Jean-Luc was confronted by Kate Pulaski, wearing a serious expression. She came out into main sickbay, her arms crossed, and when he started to the left she blocked his path.

"Doctor," he exclaimed, gently rebuking her.

"I need to speak to you."

"All right," he said patiently, tucking the two books under his arm and waiting.

"You may be in a position of making decisions on her behalf," Pulaski said sternly. She clearly didn't like that idea. "She hasn't awakened. The child is now at a size that would normally be considered eight weeks -- I think its growth has accelerated slightly. And it's starting to emit more radiation, still not dangerous levels but it's concerning. It makes no sense."

"Why are you calling it a child?"

That gave her pause. "It's a fetus. It has arms and legs, and all the features of a child. It's genetically -- "

"Children do not give off Eichner radiation. They are not clones of their mother. I am debating whether she might have been unduly influenced by this alien, as well."

Pulaski sighed heavily. "It's a life. However you define it, there is a living being in there. I'm at a loss for how it's emitting -- "

"I am going to see my wife, if that's all right with you. I would rather not argue the point further."

Pulaski finally stepped aside, and followed him as far as the door. As he approached the biobed, which had been set to a gentle reclining angle, he saw that she was in the blue sickbay dress now and her hair was loose over her shoulders. Her would-be pregnancy was now showing as a moderately-sized bump in her abdomen. She was awake, but only barely. The ends of her mouth twitched.

"Hi," she said quietly.

Jean-Luc touched her arm. "How do you feel?"

She gazed at him through her lashes and he had the impression that she might be drugged. He doubted it -- there had to be something else going on. A glance at the monitor and it was clear she was being given fluids, nothing medicinal. He also looked at the image of the child, and it did look like one, at least like the images he had seen in one of the texts he'd started to review on pregnancy.

The lost feeling returned. And then he thought further and reached up to touch her face, and leaned to kiss her forehead -- it should have elicited a response he could detect and there was nothing. She had been sharing her emotions with him continuously for weeks now, with only the conference interrupting, and she would have explained why if she'd chosen to do it now. He had assumed that her absence in his mind had been due to her being unconscious, but this was proving otherwise.

"The doctor tells me the radiation levels are increasing," he said, to have something to say. 

She frowned. "What do you mean? The baby is fine, they said." Deanna blinked, and gazed at him with glassy eyes.

Jean-Luc turned to stare at the doctor. Pulaski was shocked. She approached the bed slowly, as if Deanna might react adversely to her presence. "Deanna," she began, reaching to touch her shoulder. "The baby appears to be normal. But if it continues to emit radiation in increasing amounts it will reach a dangerous level before the baby is born. It will hurt you and possibly others around you. I explained this to you before the captain got here."

"You won't be hurt." Deanna closed her eyes. "That isn't what he wants."

"He?" Pulaski glanced askance at Jean-Luc.

"Doctor, a moment." Jean-Luc left the books on the chair next to the head of the bed and led Pulaski from the room. In the empty recovery room, he turned to speak in a low voice. "Remove it."

"And what am I supposed to do with it after I do that?" Pulaski said, incredulous.

"Put it in stasis. Put it in one of those artificial incubator units. Remove it from my officer before it does any more damage. She's clearly being affected by it."

Pulaski crossed her arms again. "So is this an order from the captain, or an instruction from her husband?"

"Whatever you feel should take precedence, to get her back to being herself again."

"Captain," she said sternly, "you are asking me to trust your judgment that she is being influenced in some way by this -- "

"Yes," he snapped. "I am. I want you to listen to me, and understand me when I say that this officer, the ship's counselor I have worked with for a year, is not herself. She was terrified earlier when we determined there was radiation present and increasing. She was holding out hope that this creature meant no harm and she wanted to have more proof that it was not simply doing as we do, exploring the galaxy, in its own way. In my opinion invading the body of another being is in itself a malicious act. But she is no longer terrified, suddenly, and she is no longer behaving as she was before -- she's Betazoid. She has a husband with whom she has been sharing her thoughts, and now she has stopped -- this too is suspicious. She doesn't remember that the baby is female like her. This isn't Deanna any longer, something has changed."

"Deanna has been under a lot of stress," Pulaski exclaimed. "She's not quite herself, that's true, but no woman would be."

There were examples he could cite demonstrating how strong Deanna was, how many stressful situations she had already been through in which she had kept her head -- the last one being the confrontation with Armus. But after a few heartbeats he concluded that storytelling wasn't going to be helpful at this juncture. "What will it take to convince you that I am correct and you are wrong, so you will do your job and _save her from this creature_?"

"I won't rely on biased family members to make such decisions! She made her wishes quite clear just an hour ago!"

"So what will you rely on? Are you going to wait until the radiation kills her?"

"Of course not! Do you mistrust all your doctors this way?"

Jean-Luc sighed, and thought about options. "Call in Dr. Selar. Have her assess the situation. She knows Deanna, she's been assisting in sickbay for as long as we've all been aboard."

"Selar is coming in later this afternoon. If there is a reason, if Deanna is in any danger -- "

"She is in danger already," he exclaimed. "The longer you sit and watch, the longer this entity has to entrench itself in her mind -- if you remove the fetus and place it in an incubator that would satisfy all concerned, would it not? Neither mother nor child would be harmed and then we could move Deanna away from it, out of its sphere of influence whatever that is. She could return to herself and you can hear from her what she would want. You could even, if she tells you so, put the fetus back. So what is it that you are postponing and potentially damaging your patient's health to protect?"

"You have no way of knowing that removing the fetus would do any such thing. You can't give me any real evidence that anything other than stress is influencing her mind at all." Pulaski stared at him, and the fire in her eyes abated. "If I don't capitulate you're going to do something drastic, aren't you?"

"You told me that I might be in a position of making decisions on her behalf. I am positive that I should be at this point. She is unable to do so and I know she wants to be healthy, have children and be around to raise them. And if you are not going to help me with ensuring that she has a chance to do so I will find someone who will."

"She has days, not weeks," Pulaski said quietly. Meaning they were too far from a starbase to have other options.

"Do you think the other doctors aboard share your assessment of her? I told you -- get Selar. Get Dr. Meraz. Both of them know her. Both of them know me, for that matter, and they'll tell you I'd rather fire you than have you endanger any member of this crew."

"Data to Pulaski," came the interruption of the day. 

"Yes, Pulaski here," she said, turning away from Jean-Luc slightly.

"An alarm sounded fifteen minutes ago -- one of the plague samples has begun to show growth. We are conducting more detailed scans of the rest of the samples. I believe it is the Eichner radiation that is causing the change -- it appears to have a stimulating effect on some strains of the bacteria. Sickbay is two decks above the cargo bay in which the containment units are housed."

"Damn it," Pulaski swore, more agitated than before. "Is there any way to shield the area? Force fields?"

"It would be more expedient to move the source of the radiation than to attempt through trial and error to find a wavelength that mitigated the radiation, Doctor."

"Is anything else aboard being affected, Mr. Data?" Jean-Luc asked.

"Not at this time, sir. However, I estimate that the radiation levels will begin to be damaging to other organisms aboard within four hours. The rate at which it increases has quickened."

"Noted. Thank you, Mr. Data." After the chirp of the closed channel, Jean-Luc crossed his arms as well. "You have some ethic about preventing radiation sickness in the crew at large, I hope?"

"We'll have more than that to worry about if it's causing growth in those samples," Pulaski exclaimed. "We'll remove the fetus and place it in stasis."

He watched her hurry into the other room, and heard her paging Ogawa, Selar and a few others while she did whatever she was doing to prepare -- when she emerged from intensive care she seemed surprised to still see him there.

"I expect to be notified the instant she's in recovery. I will wait in your office." Jean-Luc stalked away and went to pace in private for the duration.

It didn't take long. It felt as though it did, it was likely the longest half hour of his life, but Jean-Luc stopped in mid-stride as the door to the CMO's office opened, and Selar stepped in.

"The surgery has been completed successfully and the counselor is in recovery," the Vulcan announced. "The child has been placed in a stasis unit but there is some difficulty with it -- the unit is malfunctioning."

"Can I see Deanna?"

"Come with me, sir."

They passed through main sickbay to the surgical bay, where Ogawa was tidying up, and into the recovery room. Deanna was now in a gown and under a blanket, and starting to stir. Selar checked the readouts on a monitor and left through the other door, into the intensive care area where the child likely was being placed in one of the stasis units there.

Jean-Luc was relieved to see Deanna smile at him, and even more relieved that he could tell she was happy to see him. "Good to see you," he murmured. "Do you remember what happened?"

"I remember feeling very odd and passing out. I think I remember you were here and I heard you arguing with Kate." She sounded tired, and that made sense to him. "There was this pressure -- it felt as though I was trapped under something heavy. And then I couldn't sense anything. I think -- maybe it was actually starting to be able to control me. It's coming back to me slowly."

"Good. Because Pulaski didn't want to remove it. Maybe she will believe you if you tell her what it was doing. She didn't think I knew what I was talking about when I told her you weren't being yourself."

Deanna frowned at that. "What's happened to the child?"

"They're putting it in stasis. Or attempting to."

The door opened again, and Pulaski came out, followed by Selar. She had a resigned expression and approached the biobed with great seriousness. "The child is dead," she said. "It's in stasis."

"You mean the body that the alien entity created is dead," Deanna said. "I can still sense the alien itself. It's close."

"Have you been monitoring the radiation levels?" Jean-Luc asked.

"They have been dropping and I just spoke to Data -- he said that they've been able to maintain containment and that the samples have stopped multiplying. I think we shouldn't have any difficulties from here on out, if the alien is truly gone and the radiation is gone with it," Kate said. She gave Jean-Luc a brittle smile. "It looks like my judgment was off. How do you feel, Deanna?"

"Better. Once the entity started to learn about my brain structure from the fetus it started to be able to influence mine," she replied, surprising Pulaski. "I could feel it slowly gaining control. It wanted something, but I'm not sure what -- I'm glad you removed it before it was able to finish whatever it was doing. I suspect the fetal brain was so undeveloped that it was unable to continue to exert control from the other room." Deanna's expression grew distant for a moment. "It's leaving the area. It has no emotions -- I don't believe it was able to understand what it was like for me to go through all of that. It's a relief that it's gone now."

Pulaski pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Well. I hope you can forgive me for being stubborn... I was trying to respect my patient's wishes."

"She was being argumentative in spite of telling me I could make decisions on your behalf," Jean-Luc exclaimed.

Deanna sighed, reaching for his hand, which he provided. "She hasn't had enough time to get to know us well enough to know you wouldn't do that unless you knew I wouldn't be able to speak for myself."

Selar silently departed, and after a moment of thought Pulaski said, "I'll check back with you in a while. When you have decided what you would like to do with the child's body -- "

"It doesn't matter," Deanna said. "It was never my child."

"Oh," Pulaski blurted. "Well. Regardless, it's still your decision as to how the remains should be handled."

"We'll let you know," Jean-Luc said.

The doctor nodded, and followed Selar from the room, heading for main sickbay. Jean-Luc gazed at his wife for a moment, then leaned in as she sat up and they met in a warm embrace. He continued to hold her, as she started to cry.

"I wanted to have a baby," she whispered. "I didn't want this."

"I definitely agree with you there. We can have a baby when you are ready," he murmured.

"I want to go home."

"I want you to come home. But I'd rather you do that after you're cleared to leave sickbay." He leaned against the edge of the bed after easing her back down and held her hand, waiting for the doctor to come back and check on her.

"You're not on the bridge," Deanna said, complaining.

"I'm not going back until you're home and feeling better. I know you don't need that, but humor me."

Tears were still glittering in her eyes. "No, actually, I think I will need that for a while, this time."

 


	58. Chapter 58

"Are you all right?"

Senna's simple question had been asked so many times over the past hours by different people that Deanna closed her eyes and paused to take a breath, as she lay in the messy covers of her bed. Jean-Luc had gone to the gym, at her urging -- she had promised to nap. And when sleep hadn't come to her easily she asked the bridge to contact her cousin, so she could tell her what was going on.

"Of course you aren't," Senna said. "No one would be. I should say instead that you will be all right."

"I don't feel that way. But it never feels that way."

A pause, in which Deanna could hear in the distant background one of the girls shrieking for joy. "Can you come home?"

"Oh...." It wasn't the first time Senna had invited her to come be with her. Enticing, in the current circumstance. "Thank you, Senna. I do want to see all of you again. But I can't yet."

"I know he will take care of you, but it's been one thing after another -- you should rest for a while. Don't go back to work too soon. They don't understand what it does to an empath, do they?"

"No. Thank you for listening. I'll call you tomorrow."

"Yes. And if you do not, I will call you. Go to sleep, Deanna." The channel was terminated with a chirp. Senna was nothing if not direct.

Deanna smiled ruefully at that and rolled on her back, looking up at the stars, wishing. She hadn't sensed the entity again -- but if she started to drop off to sleep, she would startle awake, as if anticipating being taken over again by some unknown force that would rob her of autonomy and make her captain suspicious of her again.

She knew Jean-Luc was coming back. The workouts he used were typically short but intense. He would check on her, take a shower, and possibly read to her so she could sleep at last. And Kate was also coming, like clockwork -- it was nearly time for the morning visit. Since leaving sickbay yesterday morning, Kate had been by to check her twice, at lunch time and again just before dinner. Guilt was now part of her motivation.

Kate got there first, as Deanna was tying on a robe. She went out at the sound of the annunciator and met her at the door. At once Kate studied her face carefully.

"Are you still having trouble sleeping?" With a hand to her shoulder, she guided Deanna to the couch and opened the medical tricorder.

"Yes."

"You're sure you don't want a sedative? I realize that Betazoids prefer to allow their brains to restore equilibrium without medication if possible, but if a neuroleptic would help...."

"I'm no stranger to trauma, Doctor. I'll be all right with time."

Kate put aside the tricorder after a moment. She wanted to say something, but either was not sure what exactly to say or hesitated to do so because she thought it would be upsetting -- the doctor had a chastened attitude, seemed to be waiting to be scolded. When she did speak, it wasn't her original thoughts; she escaped into the clinical.

"You should have a counselor to clear you, but I realize you aren't going to ask your subordinate for that. I'm going to request that Starfleet send someone to assess you. Judging from your records this is the fourth major injury -- "

"Sixth," Deanna said softly.

Kate blinked, and waited for clarification.

"You are perhaps only looking at my time aboard the _Enterprise_. At the moment, I think that the last two incidents are affecting me the most."

Kate cleared her throat. The urge to be a counselor was strong -- Deanna had to bite back reassurances, tell herself not to rescue the doctor from this. Kate's strong emotional reaction to the situation suggested this was a first for her. She knew Kate had been on two starships before coming aboard, and that she had a solid reputation without blemish. That was another kind of trauma to endure. The realization that your assumptions based in your expertise had been incorrect.

"How are you feeling about the child?" Kate asked, tentatively -- moving into that subject about which she was feeling most vulnerable. The doctor had had a strong reaction to Deanna's pregnancy and her emotions had suggested to Deanna that Kate had deliberately set aside the idea of having a family despite her own desire to do so. Her complex reaction to a pregnant patient had resulted in a larger conflict than would have been present otherwise. 

"I wish it had been a real child, and not a result of the presence of an alien entity. I feel empty sometimes, sad, and in a way lonely -- it wasn't a very long period to spend with a baby in me but it made a real impression on me. I don't believe the mind of the child was developed enough for me to bond with it in the way Betazoids do with their children, so I was spared that loss."

"If there's anything -- "

The door opened, and Jean-Luc strode in and stood there in his workout grays, sweaty and irritable at the sight of the doctor. He paused to collect himself, rather than simply react to her presence. "Is something wrong?" he asked, knowing well enough that everything was as he'd left it. He sidled to the left, turning to the replicator. "Preset twelve." A tumbler of water materialized in the alcove.

"She's doing well physically. I expect you can tell how she is doing emotionally," Kate said casually.

Jean-Luc glanced at them between sips of water, and wandered over to the armchair. "Is there an estimated return to duty?"

That made the doctor roll her eyes. Perhaps she thought that question was naive instead of the deflection that it really was. "Not until a psychologist assesses her. I suspect she will need more time to recover than we would assume. She's had multiple major traumatic incidents within a short time frame, it would only be prudent to assess and intervene as needed."

Jean-Luc nodded, though he didn't like the doctor and it predisposed him to not like her suggestions. But he was good at setting aside his feelings. He had enough experience with medical professionals and crew who had been through similar situations to understand her suggestion, as well. "We're offloading the samples and will be on our way shortly. I intend to contact Admiral Quinn after our briefing."

Kate suffered a pang of anticipatory grief at the mention of the admiral. But her slight smile didn't waver. "I should let you rest, Deanna -- the debriefing will be difficult for you, I think."

After she was gone, Deanna turned to her husband. "Are you going to ask for a replacement doctor?"

"I don't know. On one hand, she is definitely a strong advocate for her patients. On the other -- "

"She's a doctor before she is an officer, just as I am a counselor first and an officer second. I can't fault her for not understanding what you were doing. She doesn't know you had information rather than conjecture," Deanna said. "You didn't tell her you could sense what was going on with me."

"You said you would take a nap. Did you have an opportunity to get any sleep at all?"

Sighing, she acceded to his determination not to go over the incident until the debriefing, and let him herd her off to bed. She dozed while he took a shower and watched him come to bed wearing a pair of shorts. He sat in bed next to her, propped up on his pillow, and read a book -- silently, while resting his left hand on her hip as she lay on her right side and fell asleep again. Having him there and calm helped her feel safe. When it was time to go to the meeting he woke her with a nudge and they both put on a uniform.

The senior staff were all silent and serious as they arrived in the observation lounge, and she did the same as Jean-Luc, maintained a serious demeanor and sat down in the two empty chairs at the head of the table. Will, at the captain's left, nodded to both of them.

Data was sitting next to Deanna, and smiled at her as she glanced down the table. "Counselor, how are you feeling today?"

Deanna smiled, knowing all eyes were on here -- most of them had no idea what had happened but knew it involved her somehow. "Better. Thank you, Data."

"I know you all have questions about what happened," Jean-Luc said. "You are aware, I believe, that the counselor was in sickbay, and that we nearly had a major incident involving the plague samples we were transporting. This debriefing is intended to help us learn from the situation and be better able to intervene in the future if a similar event arises."

Kate stared at him in surprise. It didn't disturb anyone else, however. 

"If you would summarize for us what happened, Counselor, that might be the best way to start," Jean-Luc said.

That led to general tension in the room that threatened to give her a headache. She sighed, collected her thoughts, glanced at Pulaski sitting across the table next to Will. "I only know from Mr. Data's analysis of the internal sensor logs that the entity came aboard while I was asleep. When I went to sickbay I had no idea anything was wrong and had no symptoms -- Dr. Pulaski discovered in the course of a brief exam that I was pregnant. There were abnormalities. The fetus was growing much more rapidly than it should have been, and it was giving off low levels of Eichner radiation, which should not have been possible. She kept me in sickbay until it became too risky to allow the pregnancy to continue. Upon termination of the pregnancy the entity left the ship."

Kate had a mixed reaction to that, mostly incredulity which was likely about the matter-of-fact manner Deanna was taking, and she sat there gazing down at her hands folded upon the table in front of her. Worf had become disgruntled and irritable, a mood that usually meant extreme discomfort with the subject matter, and next to him Geordi and McKay each had a blank expression and determination to not react and not show their shock or dismay. Data was, of course, unperturbed and listening with his usual curiosity. Will simply sat and radiated sympathy as he gazed across the table at her.

"Was this entity malicious in nature, then?" The android was as always quite matter of fact.

"Now that I have had time to reflect upon what happened, I believe that it was not necessarily attempting to destroy or invade, but it was definitely attempting to influence others in order to protect itself. It was not effectively communicating with me or anyone else. What I assume it actually wanted to do was understand us. Whether it wanted to do that in order to destroy us, subjugate us, or for some other reason, I couldn't begin to guess. It was noncorporeal and it had no emotions that I could sense, and while I was able to detect it after it left the body of the fetus, that was only due to familiarity that came out of the experience. I'm afraid I have no clear answers for you as to what it was, where it was from, or what it really intended to do. But it was certain that if we continued to let it do as it wanted, there would have been damage, to the crew and to the cargo. I would have been very ill, at the end of it, had the doctor not removed it when she did."

"Do we assume this entity may become a problem again?" Will asked. His eyes flicked from the captain to Deanna.

"I don't believe so," Jean-Luc said. "It may be prudent to add a subroutine to the internal sensor system, to alert crew to the presence of Eichner radiation in the future. A very low level of it was detected but no alarm was sounded, as it was far below what would have been a risk to the crew. The entity itself does not appear to be overtly violent, or perhaps it is unable to do anything while in its noncorporeal state."

"I'm fine," Deanna asserted, smiling. "It was a horrible experience. But so many things have been -- I think that it was especially difficult because the entity attempted to take the form of a child. We all have strong emotions about children. It was terrible to realize that it was some entity instead of a child."

"I know it's been eye-opening for me," Kate said. "And I have to say that your reaction to all of this has been incredible. That you're so calm and able to talk about it amazes me."

"Deanna has always been capable of enduring overwhelming emotions," Data commented. "As an empath she must do so almost daily, working with clients who have great emotional turmoil."

Now people were looking at Data -- Will seemed torn between smiling and frowning, amused by the android's ability to deduce this and also sympathetic that it was true. He'd commented on his concern about her before, in their first weeks aboard. Will had known a younger version of her who had been less able to cope than she was now.

"That's an astounding observation for you to make, Mr. Data," Kate exclaimed. She was obviously still getting used to the android's quirks and not quite believing what she was seeing.

"Data is like so many humans, very good at pattern recognition," Deanna said. "He knows me well enough to know when I'm very stressed."

"I am very sorry that you lost what you must have assumed to be your child, Deanna," Data said unexpectedly.

It froze her in her seat for a few seconds. She turned to look at him. "Thank you, Data," she managed, with minimal tears. She had been counting on the senior staff being focused on the event, being formal in the meeting. Leave it to Data to inject emotion and derail her.

"If there's anything we can do," Geordi said tentatively, clearly feeling that was inadequate.

Deanna glanced down the table at the faces of her friends, really looking at them for the first time. They were one and all concerned, and Worf had a sneer that would have been easy to misinterpret. "Thank you," she said again, then dropped her gaze and waited.

"The counselor will remain on medical leave for the time being," Jean-Luc said. "In fact, Counselor, if you have nothing else to add, you may consider yourself dismissed."

"Sir." She rose and glanced around again. "I would welcome any of you if you would like to stop in for a visit."

"See you later," Will said at once.

She managed a smile and left the observation lounge, and made it into the lift before she started to cry again. All the way home and into the bedroom, and she peeled herself out of the uniform and crawled into bed, rolling up in the sheet. She knew her body had been healed by the staff in sickbay, but she ached just the same with the memory of having the child in her belly.

It took another forty minutes for Jean-Luc to come home. He stood over the bed, looking down at her, then sat down and reached for her -- stroked her hair back from her cheek. "What would help?"

She had no words to answer. The first sob sounded more like a hiccup but more followed, and without further hesitation he tipped into bed with her and wrapped his arms around her, and let her wail against his chest. She hadn't really cried before, the pain had been knotted up somewhere deep inside -- the wrenching sadness came out in body-clenching spasms, nothing like the polite tears of last night. It wore her down to quiet trembling, and then she fell asleep in his arms, exhausted beyond words.

 

* * *

 

 

Jean-Luc woke to a stiff neck, from the odd way he'd been huddling around Deanna with his head bent forward until his cheek lay on the top of her head. He unfolded himself and stood, and started to remove the rumpled uniform.

It was absolutely predictable that someone came to the door -- he asked the time, and discovered it was now the end of alpha shift. He barely had time to fasten the pants he'd pulled on. Heading out to greet the visitor, he was startled to find that when the door opened Pulaski stood there.

"Doctor," he exclaimed in surprise.

Her eyes lingered on his bare chest, just long enough for him to notice her noticing, but she yanked them up and shut her open mouth. "I wanted to check on her before I go to dinner," she said, raising the tricorder to hold it in front of her like a shield.

"She's asleep. She should probably stay that way." He waved his hand vaguely and turned, moving out of her way.

Pulaski came in slowly. "I think you have a good crew," she murmured.

"Thank you."

"I'm sorry," she said, hugging her tricorder.

He stopped short of the armchair and turned around to study her anew. "Sorry?"

"I assumed both of you are biased, because of the personal relationship."

Jean-Luc stared at her with raised eyebrows. "Of course there is bias! What sane officer denies that? You can't work around something that you pretend does not exist."

Pulaski started to laugh, incredulous, surprised and high pitched, and did a double take -- Deanna emerged from the bedroom in her usual state of disarray only more so than usual. Her hair was wild, she was wrapped in the sheet from the bed, and she squinted and stumbled toward him as if sleepwalking. He knew her head hurt.

"You have an analgesic?" He caught Deanna by the shoulder and guided her to sit down on the couch.

Pulaski recovered from her shock and got a hypospray from the replicator, then joined them. By that time Deanna was starting to really wake up, and muttering curse words while sitting in the center of the couch, hunched forward and miserable.

"Is she saying...."

 "Just give it to her. It'll stop in a minute."

Pulaski pressed the hypo against a bare patch of shoulder. Deanna groaned, and squinted, and muttered, "What time is it?"

"Almost dinner time. Feel better?"

"Mmmm."

Jean-Luc watched Pulaski running the tricorder. "You'll feel better after you've had something to eat. You missed lunch."

Deanna clutched the sheet more tightly around herself and tipped over to curl up on the couch. 

"Is this normal?" Pulaski asked softly.

"She doesn't wake up gracefully. I'm getting you something to drink." He went, and brought back a cup of hot tea. The smell of mint usually helped. She sat up again slowly and picked it up, sipping the steaming tea.

"I'm fine," Deanna murmured after a few sips.

Pulaski came a little closer, still tentative for some reason. "I came to apologize to both of you," she said.

That got Deanna's attention; she opened her eyes and gazed up at the doctor. "Why?"

"I believed he was ordering me to remove the child against your wishes."

"When Data told us about the radiation, if I had been less terrified and more coherent, I would have asked you to remove it then," Deanna exclaimed. "But I wasn't thinking -- I don't believe Jean-Luc was quite there yet either, because it all happened so quickly and it was so overwhelming. We were distracted by the idea of it being a child, and more so because we're planning  to have one."

Pulaski perched on the end of the couch and closed her tricorder. "To answer your original question, the one I never answered because I thought you were already pregnant, I can prescribe a series of injections that will convince your hormones to play well with each other and facilitate conception."

Jean-Luc had settled in the arm chair, and smiled when Deanna turned to him with a happy grin. "Perhaps in a few weeks."

"What did Admiral Quinn tell you?" Deanna asked.

"We're going exploring, in uncharted sectors. He said very little about much of anything. That the incident on Vagra Two is not under investigation, Starfleet considers the matter settled -- he mentioned too that the _Rubicon_  has reached Earth and Tasha is at Starfleet Medical."

"I should contact Beverly and see how she is doing." Deanna sipped a little more of her tea, and put the cup on the table in front of her. "I'll get dressed. We're about to have more company."

"You are? If you're expecting guests I should go," Pulaski said, rising and watching Deanna heading into the bedroom.

"We're not expecting anyone," Jean-Luc said. "Deanna has her own early warning system."

The computer sounded the alarm as Deanna returned, now wearing one of her more comfortable blue dresses, and tossed a shirt at him. Jean-Luc pulled it on and settled back in his chair as Will came in with Randi. 

"Maybe you met Dr. Pulaski already," Will said, glancing at his girlfriend.

"No, actually," Pulaski said, "she would be in the nine hundred or so people I haven't been introduced to yet. Dr. Kate Pulaski."

"Lieutenant Randi MacAvoy," Will obliged with a smile. "We came by to see how Deanna is doing -- you look like you might enjoy some time in Ten Forward."

Deanna made her way around the room, touching Will's shoulder, giving Randi a one-armed hug, and then went past them to the couch to sit near Jean-Luc. "Thank you, but I really would rather stay home tonight. Maybe in a few days."

"I'd like you to come in first thing tomorrow, so I can follow up with you on how you're doing," Pulaski said. "In the meantime -- "

"Rest, yes. Thank you, Doctor."

Pulaski exited without further ado. Once the door closed behind her, Randi said, "Are you sure you're all right?"

"The doctor is keeping a close eye on her, that's all," Jean-Luc said. "She'll be fine."

That he wasn't expressing concern seemed to reassure them. "Okay. Maybe I'll come by tomorrow, let you beat me at chess or something," Will said. 

"I'm sure that is how it always appears to you," Deanna returned, as usual. "Have a good evening."

Randi waved to them as she rolled her eyes at Will's bluster and followed him out of the room. 

Jean-Luc was glad to see them all gone. He sighed, and smiled at his wife. "You're hungry."

"Yes. And no. I'll have some soup."

He nodded. "We'll have a bath after, and then you'll go back to sleep."

She pleaded with her eyes. She didn't like recovering -- but with a heavy sigh she got up with him to go to the replicator, then the table to eat. Her mood took a downward turn and she ate listlessly.

Pulaski was right about one thing, he decided. Deanna had had plenty of trauma, and he'd watched her slow recovery too many times for his liking. 

"The doctor wants an assessment," he commented. "That will mean heading for the nearest starbase. We'll take a few days there, give the crew a rotation of a day's leave, before the ship has to head for uncharted regions. I'm not sure when we'll be able to do that again."

Deanna nodded and continued to feel sad and restless while staring into her bowl of tomato bisque.

"Maybe we should take a walk after dinner," he said.

Her eyes came up and for a long moment she gave him an opportunity to see his reflection in them. "All right," she said, and smiled. For some reason she was feeling great affection for him quite suddenly.

"Deanna?"

"I love you, too. Thank you for not letting me sulk."

"Are you suggesting that I have an ulterior motive for wanting to talk a walk with my wife?"

She smirked at that. "I believe I was stating that you do."

"Well, that's different then."

"Different. Oh, Jean-Luc."

"I've been thinking that we should name our son Perceval," he said, knowing full well she could tell he was joking.

She started to giggle at him. "Oh, no."

"There are also a few Klingon names I've been considering. K'Vok, K'Chrenak -- "

"No," she cried. 

"What's wrong with K'Vok? It's a perfectly respectable name."

Deanna put a hand to her forehead and blinked away a few tears. "Jean-Luc."

"You have other suggestions?"

She put the spoon down in her empty bowl. "We could wait until there is actually a baby to name?"

"The voice of practicality. Would you like some salad? I think I'll replicate a Cobb."

When he came back with it, he sat next to her instead of across from her, and while he was eating he passed her his fork once in a while, encouraging her to eat some of it. The holodecks were all in use so he rambled with her through corridors, on decks that rarely saw much activity during beta shift. When he could tell she was tired, he brought her home and saw her into the bath. He hoped there would be no nightmares again.


	59. Chapter 59

The following string of days fell into a predictable pattern. Deanna chafed at not having much to do, didn't like being off duty, but she ate meals with Jean-Luc and spent some time having tea in Ten Forward and talking to Guinan, went to sickbay as scheduled for follow-ups, and read all afternoon. She caught up on research and moved on to fiction. Talked to Beverly, at first about Tasha and then the doctor pried recent events out of her -- actually teased her about when she might start having children, which hurt, and then Beverly questioned the strange look on her face.

Deanna considered asking Kate if she could just see clients, one or two a day, just to have something to do. Then she had a random moment of tears, and knew that it would be an issue if she were to have one in the middle of a session. She started going to a holodeck and bringing up a simulation for a yoga class. 

Midmorning on the fifth day, she came out of a turbolift on deck ten and ran into Randi outside Ten Forward. "Hi, what's up?" 

Randi shrugged. "I'm working on a project for my supervisor. Part of it is research so I thought I would sit in the lounge and have tea while I do it. How are you doing?"

"A little better each day. I didn't have a nightmare last night." Randi was one of the few aboard she'd told about the symptoms she'd been experiencing. She and Will had visited often, as all the senior officers had. 

They went in together, and Randi sat down with her in front of one of the viewports, putting her padd on the table. Guinan brought over a pot of tea a moment later and sat down with them, pouring three cups. "It's been quiet," she said. 

"She was just saying she's stopped having nightmares," Randi said. 

"Progress," Guinan said. The hostess smiled and tilted her head slightly, not enough to dislodge the large red hat she wore. "You look better. Well rested."

"I'm feeling better today, yes. I was even thinking I might have another yoga class this afternoon -- it occupies the time and it helps me keep muscle tone, until I'm cleared for more strenuous exercise." Her recent surgery was healed, but Kate was being very careful.

"You should come help me, if you're bored," Guinan said with her version of a grin, which was similar to most people's sly smile.

Deanna looked around at the empty lounge. "I think you're offering because you're bored, too."

"Maybe." Guinan leaned back and sipped her tea. "You and the captain are planning to have children?"

"I guess it isn't exactly a secret, is it?" Deanna glanced at Randi, who shrugged and shook her head -- she hadn't been talking about it.

"He was talking to Will the other day, when they were in here," Guinan said. "I think it's a good thing. I think you will be an excellent mother."

"Thank you, Guinan," Deanna said softly. It wouldn't surprise her if Guinan had guessed that was a sensitive subject for her. Thinking about motherhood was frightening, when she thought about her own mother and the poor example Lwaxana had been. She knew rationally that she wouldn't be the same, but felt otherwise. She knew that was part of why Jean-Luc had been anxious, he'd talked about his own father and not feeling comfortable with children because he didn't think he was good with them. 

"Are you going to have a girl or a boy first?" Randi asked.

"We're not going to force that choice."

"Going to be old-fashioned about it -- I like it," Randi said. "Have you started the injections?"

"Not yet. After we leave the starbase."

There was a tense pause in the conversation. Randi stared into her tea for a moment. "You said Pulaski wants you to be assessed by a psychologist before she lets you return to duty. Is that why you're stressed?"

"It's a prudent thing to do," Deanna said. 

"I hear a 'but' in your tone," Guinan said.

Deanna pursed her lips and turned her head to look out at the stars. They would be arriving at Starbase TS-455 within the next hour or so. She wished they were already there -- after she was done with the two hours of a psychological assessment with Commander Torin, Jean-Luc had a plan to take her to dinner, and she suspected there was more he hadn't told her about yet. The starbase wasn't close enough to any pleasure planet she was aware of but it didn't mean there was nowhere to go; he had moments of smug contemplation when she wasn't around that seemed to indicate something was afoot. 

He could do that. Not worry about things -- he had settled into his job, running the ship and making decisions in a crisis, and now that the crisis was over he oversaw the process of returning everything to normal for the next adventure. It was what he'd wanted, after weeks of unease and feeling as if something were wrong And Deanna, being aware of interpersonal dynamics aboard, being largely responsible for seeing they didn't interfere with his job, continued to think about what had happened between the captain and the CMO while she was pregnant. With no work to do it would come to mind often, even while she read or attempted to meditate.

"Want to talk about it?"

Deanna turned back to Randi and sighed. "I wonder if Kate is really a good fit for us. Previously she's been aboard a vessel that stays close to the charted Federation territories. She's more by the book than we can sometimes manage while we're out in the unknown. We're already delaying deployment on our next few months of exploration to do this assessment."

"Are you saying that you don't need to be assessed?"

This was one of those conversations made difficult not only because she was Betazoid, but because the other participants were not medical staff. "Not at all. When crew shows symptoms, crew is assessed. But I think a doctor with more experience on exploratory missions might have done an assessment herself and checked in a few times to follow up, and let me return to duty when I'm stable."

"Aren't Betazoids more resilient in some ways?" Guinan's question suggested she knew more than she revealed, which was usual for her.

"I've heard that said. I'm not sure I agree."

The door opened, and all three of them turned their heads to watch the captain come in. He hesitated, then approached their table. "Could I trouble you for some tea?"

Guinan took her cup and stood up, gesturing at her chair. "I'll get you a cup."

"Good morning, Captain," Randi said.

He sat down and gave her a scolding glance, and turned to Deanna. "Didn't you hear me tell her to call me Jean-Luc, just the other day?"

"I did, and at that time you were out of uniform. She'll need a little practice to be able to tell when you're Jean-Luc when you're wearing it," Deanna said with a smirk. Randi chuckled at it.

He leaned back in his chair and tried not to be so upright and stiff. "We'll be at the station shortly. How are you feeling?"

"We were just talking about how Betazoids are rumored to be more resilient emotionally than other species," Deanna replied, raising her cup to her lips.

"I was not aware. But I could see how one could draw such a conclusion."

Deanna frowned at the seriousness with which he said that. "It's not the entire picture. We suffer trauma in ways similar to humans. We recover with fewer long term issues."

Guinan brought back a steaming cup of Earl Grey, and placed it in front of Jean-Luc. "I hear another 'but' in your voice," she said.

"When something really breaks us, it can be -- more difficult."

Jean-Luc was stunned. Randi was alarmed, and put down her cup. "What do you mean?"

When Deanna didn't immediately answer, Guinan nodded. "You might mean that sometimes Betazoids don't recover."

"I was warned about Starfleet. One of my supervisors during my internship introduced me to a couple of former Starfleet officers. She explained that sometimes the unknown is more than we bargain for, and that I should understand the risk before I take assignments on starships. Being pushed to the brink by exposure to an alien species can lead to early retirement."

"I'm not sure I understand. That doesn't sound different to me -- I've known several people who retired after going through painful incidents, and I nearly did so as well." Jean-Luc wasn't happy -- he'd started to worry as a result of this discussion.

It was one of those moments that Deanna found herself fighting the emotions she was occasionally still feeling -- echoes of the grief, fear, and anger gripped her.

"Deanna," Randi said, and at the pleading in her voice Deanna glanced at her. Guinan had gone away, back to her place behind the bar, as a couple of people had come in and went to sit at the end of it.

"I'm fine, Randi," she said automatically. "It passes." Deanna ignored the look on Jean-Luc's face. Resisted looking at him, because if she did so would Randi, and it would give away the concern her husband had for her.

"Too many reminders," Jean-Luc said quietly. "The Buddhists say 'life is suffering.'"

"That isn't relevant -- the Second Noble Truth is that suffering arises from attachment to desires, the third is that suffering ceases when attachment to desire ceases. Buddhism does nothing to address suffering caused by other entities, or the trauma thereafter," Deanna said.

"I didn't realize you were a student of Buddhism," he exclaimed.

"You wouldn't believe how many officers came out of the Academy embracing those concepts. Doing my own research was self defense. They kept bringing it up in session."

"I had a roommate that talked like that at one point," Randi said. She leaned forward across the small table. "You're sure you're all right?"

"Emotions aren't fatal," Deanna said softly. "They pass. I'm going to be assessed for real problems -- but I think in another week I'll be fine, without these brief episodes, and back to work, which will help me a lot."

"I went to sickbay and talked to her a little more," Randi said, returning to the line of conversation about Pulaski. "She seems stiff, to me."

"Pulaski?" Jean-Luc asked. "Why are we still talking about her?"

Deanna shook her head at being put in this conversation before she was ready. "I am wondering if she is not a good fit."

"She should have a chance, don't you think? If I dismissed everyone based on being uncomfortable with the way they are...."

"You wouldn't be married?" Deanna giggled a little at the reminder of how uncomfortable he had been in her presence initially.

"Well, there's that, I suppose. It should prove to you that I'm right."

"I don't need proof -- Jean-Luc Picard is always right," she exclaimed, surprising Randi with the pronouncement.

"Yes," he said, uncertain he really wanted to banter that way in Ten Forward.

"I should go," Randi said. "I have three hours to finish this before my department meeting."

"See you later," Deanna said, watching her pick up the padd and head for the door. She turned back to Jean-Luc. "What brings you here?"

"You. I was talking to Greg, and then to my brother -- he called out of the blue. He wanted us to know that Marie is planning a big Christmas party and that we are invited. He assumed that we would have to know in advance in order to make plans to be there."

"I would love to go," she exclaimed. "How is Marie? René?"

"Doing quite well, apparently." He watched her drink what was left of her tea. "I wonder if you would be open to -- "

She put down her cup and waited for a few seconds. He was at a loss for words, suddenly. "Jean-Luc? What's wrong?"

He was being careful -- he tried to settle out his anxiety before speaking. And then she felt a sudden shifting within him, to some sort of decision. "What if I don't want to do this any more?"

Deanna waited for context, gazing at him patiently.

Jean-Luc leaned on the table and restlessly tapped on it a few times. When he spoke quietly he didn't seem able to look at her, stared out at the stars instead. "I can't watch it happen again."

"You're saying you don't want to see me traumatized again," she murmured.

He met her gaze and for once, she didn't extend the effort, yet he was there in her mind with her. She'd known how much difficulty he had when she had a nightmare, a flashback, and how much he wanted to do something to help her. "I don't."

Deanna thought about everything that had happened since she had been temporarily dead at the hands of a Gemenn with a sharp object. She started to cry as she considered all the times she'd suffered through a nightmare and awakened him. Ironic, that she had started out attempting to cure his insomnia as a counselor and later started to cause a different kind of sleep deprivation. Blinking away those tears, she sighed quietly. "So what are you proposing?"

"I want to talk about other options. Ones that won't cause nightmares and complicate parenthood."

Deanna wondered if this might be something he would change his mind about -- he'd gone back and forth on so many issues, including parenthood. But he wasn't wavering. "Okay. What other options have you been considering?"

"I would like to try teaching, I think."

"Starfleet, or at a college?"

He shrugged. "I haven't started to look at what's workable. But I've been offered a position at the Academy before. Do you want to continue a career in Starfleet, if I leave it?"

That was a question that took away her words. She shook her head. "I want to think about this. It seems you've made up your mind, though?"

He gazed at her seriously. His mood was also serious -- he worried, but he was quite resolute and determined. "You should be able to sleep at night. I'm told that children tend to impede sleep, I can't imagine you having nightmares on top of a crying baby and having anything good come of it."

"Are you worried that I will be permanently damaged by something that happens to me while we're aboard the _Enterprise_?"

He pushed his empty cup away slightly and stared at it, trying not to let that be true. 

"We don't need to have a plan to leave," she said. It brought his eyes back up to hers. "We don't need to find another position or another job immediately. If the real concern is as you say, we should wait until I'm pregnant, then leave the _Enterprise_  for Earth. We should get a place in San Francisco and travel -- there's still a lot of places I haven't visited. And while we travel we can look for positions, in Starfleet and out, and since we're on Earth it would take little effort to go talk to people directly about those positions, and make a better informed choice about them, instead of trying to do that over subspace."

He was chuckling by the time she finished talking. "You are amazing," he said. And after a moment, his eyebrow twitched. "You're guessing that I might change my mind. Aren't you?"

"You might, but you seem determined," she said with a smile. 

"So you aren't upset by the thought of moving on?"

Deanna shook her head. "I would miss this posting, I would miss our friends. But I want a happy husband and I think your concerns are valid. Senior staff do go on more away missions -- I can't exactly argue with you on the point that I've been injured more than once, and your record is equally checkered with trauma, and I do want my child to have both parents. And it would not be unheard of to return to Starfleet after some years' absence even if we left it. We could take a month off, and then it would be easy enough for me to find a position at Starfleet Medical, and if not I can open a private practice."

Jean-Luc liked that answer, and liked her even more -- she thought from the way he felt that he might lean over and kiss her. But he settled for a grin. "Perhaps I should focus more on where I'd like us to go on vacation, then. Determine how long a vacation we'll need to see them all."

"As long as there's an extended stop to visit your family. Marie promised we'd go shopping. And I want to visit Tasha and Beverly."

"Absolutely." He stood up and gave his uniform a tug. "Let's go to the ready room and make plans. I have time, before we reach the starbase."

 Deanna smiled at Guinan on her way out of Ten Forward, and followed the captain down the corridor to the lift. Once inside, he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. "Bridge," she said, before leaning to bump her shoulder against his. "You said this upcoming assignment was exploration?"

"Yes, there have been a few unmanned probes but we'll be the first manned vessel in the region."

"That's why you joined Starfleet, isn't it?" There was a slight charge of excitement in him, as he thought about it. "You wanted to explore the universe. See things that no other human has. Experience new species and learning about new cultures."

"Well, that's true," he said slowly. "But there's this other kind of exploration that I'm starting to do. Figure out how to have a family."

"The last time you took a leave of absence from Starfleet you went after a court-martial. You should go out this time on a positive note. Let's go exploring. You get to say when we're done."

"I thought we were leaving when you conceived," he said. But he liked that idea.

"We will. It may take some time -- I haven't started the injections."

The lift was passing deck four. Deck three. "So start them. And we'll explore until we're parents."

She sighed, this time in contentment. He was so satisfied and happy with this. "Yes."

They stepped out on the bridge, together, and she hesitated then fell in step behind him. Captain on the bridge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edging into the next episode... a few chapters left.


	60. Chapter 60

Deanna left the transporter room on the station and headed for sickbay, which occupied half of deck forty of the starbase. Jean-Luc had promised to meet her at one of the restaurants on the commerce level afterward, and she had all the ideas they had discussed about a vacation floating about in her head -- imagining a walk with him on a beach in the Hawaiian islands kept a smile on her lips and a spring in her step. She had worn a uniform for the occasion instead of one of her dresses, but perhaps they might finish early and she could do a little shopping -- surprise Jean-Luc with a dress when she met him for lunch.

Unlike the sickbay on a starship, the base had an entry and a reception desk. She told the young man at the desk she had an appointment with Commander Torin. After a moment or two a door opened on the right, and a middle-aged man stepped out. "Come along," he said.

She crossed the waiting area, followed the man with the salt and pepper hair down a short corridor into an office smaller than hers. He had wood furniture and a painting over a burgundy couch. A matching round rug covered the usual Starfleet flooring. After he saw her seated on the tiny sofa, offered and brought a beverage, and sat in his burgundy armchair, straightening a lacy-looking piece of fabric that covered the arm. He apparently also believed as she did that not being in uniform with clients helped relax them; he wore a long-sleeved green shirt and black slacks instead of a uniform in medical blue.

"I'm sure you know what I'm going to say," he said cheerfully.

"I'm sure that I do. I've assessed many people myself, Dr. Torin."

"You can call me Teddy. Dr. Torin was my father," he said with a wave of the fingers. "He was a neurologist -- upset because I wouldn't follow in his footsteps, but happy when I received my doctorate." He grabbed a padd from the small round table at his right. "I have all the pertinent information for the beginning of the assessment, thanks to your Starfleet records. So tell me, Lieutenant-Commander Picard, if we were doing this at the beginning of treatment, what would you tell me is the presenting problem?"

She took a deep breath and straightened a little in her seat, holding her glass of water in front of her in her right hand. "I've been having nightmares since my last surgery. I have brief flashbacks -- moments when I can't breathe, or I feel terrified, or sad to the point of tears. These have been diminishing over the past week."

"The surgery was to remove a fetus," he half-asked. No doubt he had access to her records.

"An alien entity created the embryo. It was dead when the alien left the ship, after the doctor removed the fetus from me."

Teddy blinked at that. His smile was gone. "Did you ask her to do that?"

"My husband did. He knew it wasn't a real baby." It was hard not to cry, but she managed. "I was unconscious, and then the alien was influencing me. He knew something was wrong."

"So humor me here," he began, smiling again, but she could sense he was becoming very serious but trying to behave in a way intended to reassure and invite honesty -- if she had been human and had no experience with conducting assessments, she would no doubt have felt reassured and relaxed by his friendly demeanor. "You're Betazoid. He is not?"

"Yes."

"Do you often communicate with him telepathically?"

"Only off duty. Rarely while on duty. It can be distracting to him."

Teddy paused again, this time to think. "Tell me about your relationship with him. When did you meet?"

She tried not to frown, recognizing this for what it was -- he was focusing on that with more interest than her symptoms. "Captain Picard came aboard the _Enterprise_ a day before I did. I reported for duty the following morning. He was very reluctant to engage in counseling sessions but thanked me for being there for the crew and treated me as he did any of the officers aboard, with respect."

"I'd suppose so. He has a reputation for being more formal than many captains. I am curious about the personal relationship, when did that begin?"

"It began as soon as we met, of course. And you will have to continue to be curious, I'm afraid."

That took him aback. He settled backward in his chair and stared at her. "I'm sorry?"

"I'm given to understand the focus of this assessment was to be determining whether trauma is impairing my ability to function. My husband has nothing to do with my trauma. He understands what I'm going through, as he, like so many officers, has had his own trauma -- he's been supportive through each traumatic incident."

Teddy raised a bushy eyebrow. "How many incidents are we talking about?"

"Since I was assigned to the _Enterprise_? I stepped in front of him and took a sword through the chest -- saved his life. It took several surgeries and a few weeks to recover. There was the incident on the planet when I sensed the sudden apocalyptic deaths of an entire population; it gave me nightmares. There was the incident on Earth, in South America, when I fell, struck my head, and needed surgery -- brain damage. That was a milder trauma, I recovered fairly quickly. The incident on the Neutral Zone -- " She looked at him sharply. "I don't think you have clearance. Suffice it to say I relived over and over the pain of being tortured. And then there was the shuttle crash I was in, and the resulting near-death of one of my best friends. She's at Starfleet Medical where they are trying to help her recover. She nearly died trying to rescue me from a semi-sentient creature. And of course, most recently, an entity found its way into my body and tried to become corporeal, by cloning me and forcing me to carry the clone as if it were my own child. I have difficulty falling asleep, as it happened when I was asleep and I keep waking up from a nightmare trying to detect that same entity -- it hasn't returned but knowing that doesn't keep me from panicking when I dream that it has."

He had to be recording the conversation. He held the padd in his lap but made no effort to use it. At the end of her summary he nodded thoughtfully. "You said that over the past week, your symptoms have diminished. What have you experienced other than the nightmares?"

"Hypervigilance. Occasionally while talking to someone, something reminds me of it and I experience a flashback. I have to make a concerted effort not to think about all the ways I could have avoided it -- it's irrational to imagine that I could do anything against a noncorporeal entity with the ability to change my body in whatever way it sees fit." She took a moment to collect her thoughts while slowing her breathing. "These symptoms are less troublesome than those I experienced after being stabbed. I had nightmares and I experienced the captain's nightmares as well. We recovered from that incident together. He was seeing the assistant counselor."

"Do you see anyone for help?"

Deanna smiled at that. "I am occasionally able to talk to my counselor via subspace. I also rely on my cousin and my friends for support. It's difficult to get counseling while you're exploring the far reaches of the quadrant."

"You recover from these symptoms each time?" Teddy asked.

"I have. I do."

The last remnant of joviality and good humor dropped away. He thought for a bit. "Are you able to be impartial about your captain's fitness for duty?"

"I recuse myself from that task, mainly because we want to avoid the appearance of impropriety. If I suspected he was unfit I would tell my supervisor, the CMO, and rely on her judgment. He is good at recognizing his own limitations, and I can tell when he's less focused or less rational." She almost mentioned their plans to leave ship duty, but again defaulted to avoiding personal details. "He relies on his senior staff. He listens to feedback and considers differences of opinion before deciding what to do in difficult situations. He takes steps to avoid the bias he knows everyone has."

"What bias is that?"

"There is an unavoidable conflict of interest in Starfleet. The conflict between building relationships with other officers so you are able to work together as a team, and having close relationships that then interfere with your decision making ability in a crisis situation. Negotiating between those two is difficult. The difference between a successful officer and an unsuccessful one is often seated in this balancing act."

The shift in Teddy's mood warned her, just before he spoke, that she was treading ever closer to some other agenda that he'd been given. She had no doubt Pulaski's request for this assessment had been made out of concern for her and partially out of a desire to recover from the doctor's own crisis of conscience, but now Deanna suspected more than ever that others had co-opted this assessment for other reasons. The older psychologist narrowed his brown eyes and smiled, but it wasn't as friendly a smile as before. Something worried him.

"Are you saying that the senior staff of the _Enterprise_ are having difficulties navigating through bias?"

"All officers do. From cadet to captain, to admiral. Denying it would be irrational and ridiculous. The senior officers of the  _Enterprise_ are not currently struggling with it, but it is occasionally an issue. Humans are particularly prone to struggling with loyalty to friends versus dedication to duty, when the two are in opposition. One need only review the logs of human starship captains to find frequent, reoccurring examples. But the officers with whom I work on a day to day basis talk about such things, and we all understand each other's perspective -- each of us would die willingly, in the service of the Federation, or to save the ship and crew, and so with that understanding we prioritize accordingly. The captain has ordered friends into harm's way before. He would do so again."

"Has he ever ordered you into harm's way?"

Deanna had to think about it. "Not explicitly. He ordered me to join the away team for the negotiation between the Gemenn and the Norass, and I was killed as a result." She almost volunteered that Will had objected to her inclusion, but stopped herself. Will wasn't the issue at the moment. "At any time, any mission can become deadly."

"You have never been in a situation in which you were ordered into a dangerous situation that carried an obvious risk to your safety?"

"Other than the situation just discussed, no. That would be a rare situation indeed, where a counselor would be leaping in to save the day, would it not? I have no useful skill that might prevent warp core breach, or that would help me win a battle." She scrutinized him in return. "Why are you assuming this is relevant to my mental health?"

"Context is helpful, as you know."

"Have you ever served aboard a starship?" Deanna smiled at him in much the same way as he'd been smiling at her.

"I have, but it's been a while. And I have yet to be in a situation where alien entities invaded my mind, so forgive me if I ask the naive questions," he said, still playing the easygoing counselor card. "How is it that one knows when such a thing takes place?"

"If you are aware of what you are saying, and you have no control over it. If you are in a situation where you should feel something and simply feel numb, or nothing at all. If you can tell the alien is pushing you out of the way."

"Was that part of the trauma?"

"Not that I can tell."

"So if you were asked if you were fit for duty, what would you say?"

"Not quite yet. Perhaps in a few days. I think there would be countertransference, if I approached the trauma of a client before the flashbacks diminish to nothing."

She wondered how much he knew about Betazoids. It was immaterial, she supposed. There were, if she let herself drift a little along his immediate past, some interesting sensations -- she extended herself for just a day into the past, and touched something that he had found disturbing. He didn't like Admiral Quinn. A flicker of Greg Quinn's face hovered just out of her reach, like an echo. He didn't like the orders he'd been given. He had acquiesced to them, but not approved. 

Deanna smiled again, this time in sympathy. It confused him. He continued to question, however, instead of addressing it.

"You said one of your best friends was severely injured?"

"Lieutenant-Commander Yar. She was, yes."

"Commander Riker noted that your actions likely saved the lives of the away team. That you were able to communicate with this creature, where no one else was."

"Yes." Thinking about the incident brought up a few tears, which she ignored. 

"Are you also close to the other officers involved?"

She had been through assessments before. Often there was a point where she simply lost patience with the questions. She was rapidly approaching that point. "I am. I consider all of them close friends. We spend time together off duty."

"You would give up your life for them?"

It took a lot of effort to not stand up and leave. "There are children on board. I would give up my life for them. There are people in sickbay who took care of me when I was disabled. I would give up my life for them. My oath to protect the Federation probably boils down to the fact that if in a dire situation I would give up my life to save this space station, that planet over there, some sector full of systems full of Federation citizens -- what is your point?"

Teddy laughed at that. "This is a sore subject, I see."

"What is annoying is the implication that I would behave on duty in ways that are inconsistent if I were called upon to defend a friend, versus some random person who is in danger. Would this line of questioning change if I were a Vulcan? How about if I were an engineer, or perhaps a first officer? Is it because I'm a counselor that I keep hearing this kind of assumption from people?" Deanna clenched her folded hands in an attempt to settle down. "What officer in Starfleet is likely to sit quietly and accept such criticism with a smile?"

"Fair enough." Teddy's strategic agreement was as annoying as the assumption. "Are you surprised that other officers might question your objectivity?"

Deanna raised her head and felt her nostrils actually flare. She stared at him for more than a few seconds -- it was hard to decide what was more offensive, the continued diversion from the actual stated intent for the assessment or his continued assumption that she was incapable of being an officer if she had an officer for a spouse.

"You would question your captain if he had started sleeping with the first officer," Teddy said, in a mild tone that one might use to comment on something superficial.

"I would if there were a reason -- I wouldn't do it incessantly without some suggestion, even a rumor would do, that some actual indiscretion or infraction had occurred. I wouldn't do it if there were _actual evidence_ that nothing was wrong. Tell Admiral Quinn to file charges already or stop it. As for this assessment, we'll be at the station for a few days -- let me know when you're ready to actually talk about my symptoms and complete it." She plunked the glass of water on the end table and stood, swept from the room and from the sickbay complex without looking back.

By the time she reached the corridor she was in full stride, and several junior officers stumbled out of her way as she marched for the nearest lift. Once inside the turbolift car, thankfully empty, she snapped out the deck she wanted and fumed for a minute, then let herself kick the wall of the lift, hard. Her toes throbbed afterward. At least her standard issue boots kept her from breaking them. She stepped out the opening doors and found herself on deck fifteen, watching a crowd of people wandering along in front of storefronts. She was across from the Klingon restaurant.

And early -- she'd walked out, and the assessment was supposed to take two hours. If Teddy had stuck to the standard format and asked all the standard questions, instead of challenging her professionalism. Jean-Luc might know she was furious, but he wouldn't be beaming over until they were supposed to meet outside the Risan restaurant in section ten.

While she surveyed the storefronts and tried to generate interest in window shopping, the lift opened again behind her. Her intense fuming had resulted in her not paying attention -- Teddy had found her while she hesitated and tried to find her centered, calm place again. She stepped off to the left, not caring what direction she went as long as it was away from him.

"Deanna," he said behind her, almost desperately. "I'm sorry."

She turned slowly and glared at him.

"I was ordered to probe into your relationship and identify anything of concern. I'm sorry."

Whirling, she took two steps and came up into his personal space, forcing him to stumble backward slightly. "Do you know that Quinn was one of Captain Picard's friends? Supposedly a good friend. What kind of friend does that? You're a psychologist, what would you say about someone who keeps insisting something is wrong with someone else despite no evidence that it's true?"

"I suppose I might believe the person was projecting his own guilt?" Teddy spread his hands, appealing to her for mercy, and gestured at the lift behind him.

Deanna sighed -- sometimes she hated being an empath. He was genuinely sorry, and it was difficult to reject him completely when he was feeling sympathetic. Then it occurred to her that she might be able to use this situation to her advantage. "Not that you would know that's what he was doing," she said wearily. "Because admirals don't tell you their reasoning. They give orders and you are supposed to follow them, and you assume he has a reason for giving the order. Which he does -- just not an official one. Because no one on our crew had anything to report, no complaint to file." That resonated with him.

"Let's talk about this in my office?" He took a step, starting to turn, then glanced up. 

"Oh, dear," she said quietly, turning. She'd sensed him on the station but supposed that he was merely doing as so many of the crew were, taking a little time to shop. But he must have spotted them and let concern propel him to intervene. "Hello, Will."

"Something going on? You were supposed to be in that assessment?" Will hadn't bothered to leave the uniform behind. He glanced at Teddy warily.

"This is Dr. Torin. Teddy, this is Commander William Riker, our first officer. Dr. Torin is the assessor -- we were taking a break."

That was unusual enough that Will raised an eyebrow, but he took it at face value. "Okay. Well, you know how to reach me if you need me."

Deanna touched his arm fondly. "Of course. Thank you. Are you looking for a birthday present for Randi?"

"I am." He held a finger to his lips.

"She likes that perfume from Risa. Not the flowery one." Deanna watched him retreat into the crowd with a wave and one last glance at Teddy.

"He's a protective one," Teddy muttered, crossing his arms.

"A friend," Deanna corrected. "The captain's, as well as my friend."

He waited until they were back in his office, seated as they had been before. Once again, he appeared relaxed. At least he was now feeling better about the situation. "So, back to the assessment. Are there any other symptoms that you have experienced?" He ran through all the types of symptomology -- psychosis, depression, anxiety -- and assessed her mental status. As he was asking her to recall something from when she'd first arrived to assess her short term memory, the computer chimed, surprising him.

Deanna stifled a chuckle. "Let him in."

"Him?"

"You thought Commander Riker was protective," she said, gently chiding. 

Teddy gave her a dubious look. "Come in," he said, and when the door opened and Jean-Luc stepped inside, he stared up at him in shock.

"Did Will call you?" She moved over to make room on the tiny sofa. He studied the situation, then relaxed from the stiff tension he'd brought into the room and sidestepped to sit with her. Jean-Luc had changed into what he'd probably decided to wear to meet her, a white shirt and those dark brown pants he favored when not in uniform.

"Will said you were lying about something and upset. That something was off." And, of course, Jean-Luc knew how angry she'd been. Will had likely also mentioned she was in the presence of a man who was not in uniform.

Deanna rolled her eyes. "Nothing to worry about. I was embarrassed to tell him I ran out of the assessment when I lost my temper."

Jean-Luc stared at her in disbelief. "You don't lose your temper."

She gestured at Teddy. "This is Commander Torin. He was contacted yesterday by Quinn, and he's already apologized for his sins. He didn't realize that the orders were based in nothing substantial."

"Technically, I still don't realize that," Teddy said cheerfully.

Jean-Luc spent a moment being rage-filled, and deflated suddenly, leaning on the arm of the sofa to place his hand over his eyes. "Ridiculous," he muttered. 

"Teddy asked me earlier about our relationship," she said, just to provoke him. It was enough to distract him from feeling ire at the admiral; he sat up again, but before he could say anything she added, "I told him the truth."

He turned back to her with the tolerantly-amused expression that said he knew he was being had. "Of course."

"He promised he wouldn't tell the admiral about what we did on the bridge," she went on, grinning.

"Deanna...." 

"Because talking about us doing our jobs isn't what Quinn wants to hear, anyway."

"You know, I could just wait for you in the restaurant," he said, pointing a thumb at the door.

"We're done with the questions, I think," she said. 

"Yes. I have enough information, I believe. I confess to being curious as to whether he was more concerned about what I would do, or what you might do."

Teddy's question led to a rare moment of stunned immobility as Jean-Luc tried to decide how to respond to that. Then he noticed Deanna was still amused, and not reacting with any tension of her own. "Neither, actually. I was concerned with what a random man might do. I have less concern about Starfleet officers. How is my wife?"

That led to a long, silent look from Teddy. "I believe her assessment to be correct -- she will be fine in a few days, if she continues to recover as she reports she has done. Unless you have anything to add that would disabuse me of that assumption?"

Jean-Luc looked at her as if doing so would provide him with new information. He had that fond little smile she loved and he was pleased that she had been essentially cleared for duty by the time they would be getting back from leave. "Nothing to add."

"I'm going to tell the admiral that he should be addressing his concerns with you directly, because I have no concerns myself."

"That will be fine. I hope that he can come to the conclusion that he doesn't need to keep asking about it," Jean-Luc said. 

"Did you need anything else, Teddy?" Deanna asked.

"I wonder if you would indulge me, Captain, if I asked you how you are doing after your wife's recent trauma? It occurs to me that the incident might have been equally traumatizing to you." 

Jean-Luc wasn't so upset by that question as he had been about the other. "I'm not having nightmares. I've been concerned but not overwhelmingly so. I've been discussing the matter with Counselor Busby, in fact."

"I'm glad you're getting along with him," Deanna said, noting that the confession brought no irritation or anxiety. "It's reassuring that you'll have someone to go to when you want to complain about me."

"Using sarcasm usually means you're comfortable with someone. I'd take that as a compliment, Commander," he told Teddy, unwilling to respond in kind in front of someone he didn't know.

"Thank you, Deanna," Teddy obliged with his cheesy grin. "You know -- I saw in your file that you're actually an empath. Not a telepath?"

"Yes, that's correct. But I can communicate telepathically at times with someone I know very well."

"Empathy allows you to read emotional reactions, and I would suppose that could give you an edge, particularly with people who have learned to set aside or ignore their own emotions. You might for example be able to read whether someone is motivated out of, for example, extreme fear, or possibly panic?"

Deanna considered, and decided to simply tell him. "The only reason I came back with you was your sincerity, when you apologized. That, and I knew you were not happy that Quinn gave you the orders to use the assessment to his ends."

Teddy wrinkled his nose. "You know, I never told you that the admiral ever gave me such an order. Since you don't know me so well you weren't using telepathy -- which leads me to wonder how you knew that."

"Betazoids have a sense of chronology -- we can read your past. When you thought about the admiral, it pulled me slightly into yesterday when you spoke to him over subspace. He contacted you. He probably has the computer network inform him when one of our names is logged somewhere in Starfleet records." Deanna reached over to take her husband's hand to keep him from swearing out loud.

"If he gives an order," Teddy waved a finger at Jean-Luc, "you know what emotional state he is in as he gives it. Thus you know his motivation for the order?"

"Yes. You're going to ask if he's ever given an order that might have been personally motivated? I'd have to say that he has, but he considers his entire crew his family, so it's always personal." Deanna gazed at him solemnly and hoped he wouldn't continue to question, so she wouldn't have to shut him down. He seemed to get the hint. 

"If I forgot anything can I contact you?"

"Of course." She smiled at Jean-Luc. "I'm hungry."

"That's good, since you haven't been. Shall we go find our lunch?"

As they stood to go, Teddy said, "The most authentic of the choices on the station would be the Rigellian restaurant."

"Thanks, we'll consider it," she replied. She followed Jean-Luc out of the tiny office and they left the sickbay complex together. 

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I couldn't sit and wait any longer. I was going to ask him if he knew where you'd gone -- I didn't know you'd gone back in his office after you saw Will."

"He doesn't like what the admiral wanted him to do, and I think he won't give Quinn much if anything."

"We shouldn't have to worry about Quinn for much longer either way," he said dismissively, tucking a hand into the small of her back. "We'll have lunch and then I have a surprise for you."

"Okay," she said with a grin as they went in the lift. "I like your surprises."


	61. Chapter 61

Jean-Luc watched his wife practice with the eating utensil and the pile of noodles -- Rigellians ate with a hybrid of chopsticks and tongs, not ideal for all food types -- and wondered what Quinn was thinking. It was enough to make him want to contact legal counsel and start to do something about it. She'd been so much better until she'd gone to that assessment. Now she dabbled with noodles in a completely distracted state instead of smiling and teasing him. Stabbing a dumpling with the chop-tongs, he ate and thought about the future. A house, possibly in San Francisco. Weekends in France.

A woman wearing a long dress holding an infant and accompanied by an older child came in the restaurant and walked by their booth. The child smiled at them, the mother glanced at him, and Deanna looked up and smiled. "Such a beautiful baby," she exclaimed unexpectedly.

"He's two days old," the older child announced proudly.

'Thank you," the young woman said with a smile. She went on to the counter at the back of the restaurant with her children.

Deanna put the utensil on the edge of her plate and bowed her head. She was there again, stuck in remembering, overwhelmed and aching and holding her stomach as if she might throw up.

"Deanna," he whispered.

She surprised him yet again -- she rallied and tried to smile while the tears were still drying on her cheeks. "Sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for. Let's go."

Dark eyes came up from the remnants of her meal. He knew she felt terrible, her belly ached and her eyes burning, and her dwindling appetite was now gone. She nodded, slid out of the bench, followed him between the booths to the exit. He put a hand on her shoulder and they strolled down the side corridor toward the exit into the main commerce area.

She seemed to feel better as they went along, hugging the edge of the crowded main corridor. "Are you taking me somewhere nice?" she asked.

"I am."

There was a hotel on the starbase, and it was one of those strange ones -- for some reason the people operating a business on a starbase seemed to try to appeal to customers through uniqueness, as if just getting off one's ship weren't enough of a draw. On this particular base the hotel featured suites with extensive batteries of holoprojectors -- each had templates for the worlds of the Federation, with holograms of scenery from some of the major players in the UFP. He'd booked the largest of the suites for a couple of days, hoping that the separation from the ship and crew would help her recovery.

They passed the Chinese restaurant, the sushi place, the Risan restaurant, and there it was -- pillars, a broad open entryway and gleaming obsidian floor. He nudged her toward the door and through it. Deanna looked at him wide-eyed as he stepped up to the desk and gave his name, and the clerk took a retinal scan and without questioning or so much as giving them a spiel handed over a pass that would give them entry to the suite. They turned away and headed for the corridor on the left, to the first door in the corridor.

"If you could be on any world in the Federation where would you go?" he asked, stopping in front of the panel next to the door.

"Oh. I think it would be nice to see Demoran Four. Have you been there?"

"Not yet. Let's see what we can manage." It took a couple of taps and then there was a list of locations on the planet. "We have a resort on the shores of the Demoran seas, complete with a view of the best sunsets and the tallest waterfall on the planet."

"I would suppose that includes comfortable room, meals, and possibly other amenities," Deanna said. "Let's see what it's like."

After he made the selection, the door opened. He let her go in first and followed her into a room that was an amazing testament to holographic tech advances. He knew the furnishings were real, but the room created the illusion of being open along one wall to a view on a broad crescent of white sand, turquoise water, deep blue skies, and a pool of golden sunshine on the floor near the bed. A pod of gleaming, blue and silver Demoran dolphins swam not far off shore, playing together, occasionally leaping out of the water.

"Oh," Deanna exclaimed. She took four more steps, leaned and touched the bed, then sat. "Jean-Luc."

He came forward, the door closing behind him, and dropped the pass on the table next to the replicator. "What would you like to do first?"

"I suppose I could start by getting rid of the uniform. That looks like a nice beach to walk on."

"Would you like a robe? Something to drink?"

She left her clothes on the bench at the end of the bed, opted for nudity -- running her fingers through her hair, she stepped to the edge of the floor and slowly descended, one step at a time, to the sand. "Warm," she exhaled, and sat down on the steps. The simulation was a good one, with a gentle onshore breeze.

He came to sit with her, after kicking off his shoes and leaving them next to the bed. "I told Will we didn't want to be disturbed. The exceptions being Wes or Beverly."

"Good."

"I think you were happier before that assessment," he said at last.

She sighed and leaned back on her elbows. Her breasts without the support of her brassiere were less round and the dark brown aureoles pointed to either side, and she folded her arm beneath her head and sprawled in front of him, an inviting arch in her back. "The reminder that someone wants to make you look like you're derelict in your duties somehow because you wanted to marry someone bothered me."

"So does the thought of leaving the ship and going to Earth."

Deanna opened her eyes again and gazed up at him. "Yes."

"I'm tired of reading reports and arguing with Will so I can occasionally go on an away mission. I'm tired of supervising. When I was still talking to Michetti she told me I sounded burned out. Maybe I should quit and let Will run the ship -- I'll apprentice myself to Mr. Mott."

Deanna sat up again and reached for his hand, where it lay on his leg. "I knew you were not completely happy with everything, but you seemed so much more content than before."

"Yes, with you. With the idea of having a family. I feel better at home and I get restless on the bridge. I think I'm actually ready to be done with command."

She moved closer along the step and he put his arm around her as she nestled against him, slipping her hand under his shirt. "Why didn't you tell me?"

It stung to know that hurt her. "I thought you knew. I guess... I expected you to just read me that well. I've said before that I'm finding the tedious parts of the job more tedious than before."

"I'm actually somewhat relieved -- I didn't want to be the reason you leave. I'm recovering from this trauma, I'm not fragile. It almost feels like you're tiptoeing around me. I started to think you came up with this to keep me from going through more trauma."

"That would be another good reason, yes. I really don't like watching you cry. And you may be thinking it might also be because of the thing with Quinn, and the idea of having a child aboard the ship. But it's really more to do with Wesley."

"Wesley?" She rested her cheek on his shoulder, as she put together that puzzle. "You mean it's about Wes losing his father."

"He asks me sometimes -- talking to him means I have to remember Jack. I have to remember how much he loved his family." He put his arms around her, when he couldn't continue.

"You have to remember how he died," she mumbled.

"My decision killed him. I don't want to be responsible for another family losing a father. I don't want to do that to you."

They sat in silence for some time. She leaned against him while he thought about her, and the image of her in sickbay popped into his head -- he thought about her, pregnant, only happy and not stuck in sickbay. That too was part of memories about Jack -- the happy grin Jack wore, for the months that Beverly spent pregnant, showing him pictures of her wearing maternity clothes. He hadn't gone with Jack when the baby was born, of course, but he'd been shown a never-ending stream of images and videos until Beverly brought the boy for a visit one time at a starbase, and he'd been introduced to the toddler that was the pride and joy of his friends -- and then it was more of the same, videos and a proud father telling him about when Wesley started talking, walking, doing math, reading books, every little milestone until he'd had to take Jack's body home to the pale, unsmiling wife and child Jack had left behind. 

Jean-Luc realized he was holding her too tightly and loosened his arms, then realized he was crying -- Deanna sat up away from him, turning to look him in the eye, grabbing his hands in hers.

"It was never about you not liking children," she said. "It's because you're afraid you'll go through that trauma all over again -- children remind you of losing Jack, and of being responsible for the trauma of Beverly and her son losing him. But she's fine. Wesley is fine. It's true that it impacted them but both of them went on with their lives. She's with Tasha and Wesley is a brilliant young man who looks up to you. You don't have to keep feeling guilty."

"Then I'm sadly consistent with everything you've ever said about trauma," he exclaimed, not liking his distressed, shaking voice. 

She smiled, a sad wistful little upturn of her lips. "As am I."

"This wasn't how I wanted to spend our time off."

"No. But I'd rather be real than not. I think we can focus now on something else for a while. Kate gave me the first injection this morning. And we should talk about real names, not Klingon ones."

"And read, and sleep, and walk on the beach in the sun."

"There are a few other things we'll be doing," she said with a smile. "I really would appreciate some practice."

Jean-Luc laughed at that. He felt better now than they had a few seconds ago. "Well, there's a bed. You'll have to approve the sheets -- I'm not sure they are soft enough."

"All right. And you need to take off these clothes. I'm sure they will be in the way."

Reaching up and back, he dragged the shirt off over his head obediently. "I have a question."

Deanna rose from the steps and stood over him. "Oh?" He reached up, and she took his hand and braced to help him get up as well. She then reached for the front of his pants, proving that she meant what she said about his clothes.

"How many children do you want?"

Her brow wrinkled, and she snorted. "You don't have to know that up front, you know. You start with one. Unless you're telling me twins or triplets run in the family?"

"Oh, no. I was asked that -- my brother wanted to know. I really don't have an answer -- I've found the thought of one provokes enough anxiety. But I realized we'd not talked about it."

"I believe one would be enough. Don't you?"

"Okay." He stepped out of his pants and followed her toward the bed. "How many injections do you think it will take?"

"I'm to have one per week for four weeks, but Kate said that it might be possible to conceive after two." He started to feel anxious again, as she sat on the corner of the bed with a bounce. She watched him approach and sit with her, wearing a curious expression. "Are you not wanting -- "

"Not at all," he exclaimed. "I do. It's -- you know."

She smiled at that. "Let's lay here and talk for a while. We have plenty of time. You can tell me about where you think we'll live, once we reach Earth."

 


	62. Chapter 62

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where Silence Has Lease - another omnipotent alien playing god games, another opening scene that makes no sense. This could have actually been an episode with real tension. WTF writers.
> 
> Episode nitpicks:
> 
> Picard is seriously worried about Worf and Riker, who are in the holodeck. Was this before they programmed in holodeck safeties -- or do they just turn them off before they go out to play warrior games? Why so serious? If your officers are hurting themselves just tell them to knock it off.
> 
> The holo-critters have costumes straight off the rack from the Halloween Store. Skeletor and Stega-man lose the fight to Worf and his Metal Fist of Fury, of course. 
> 
> Why do we have a security chief who loses control of his rage so easily that he nearly attacks the first officer?
> 
> I love how in the scene where they're contemplating very seriously the black space in space, Picard and Riker are all huddled up around Data's console leaning into his personal space, practically hugging each other. I can just hear the director telling them he wants the tightest camera angle possible... sort of like how we all crowd in for a selfie.
> 
> And Picard gives an order, to Data, then keys in the instruction himself without letting his subordinate follow the order -- good thing Data isn't easily offended.
> 
> And the doctor comes up from sickbay and starts examining the phenom. Chief Medical Officer is there, why? Did she minor in spatial anomalies?
> 
> This isn't so much about the alien as it is about "what would the characters do when tossed in a haunted house/fun house and left to figure things out" - a trope used over and over for episodes. Cf: The Royale, any "stuck in a holodeck" episode, QPid, etc.
> 
> The tension is there because the actors are playing the characters as being frightened or tense, and the end result is... overacting. Like so many "alien plays games with the crew" episodes, it could have been more seriously done.
> 
> Welcome to the version where the alien is not so nice as to chat with them before sticking them under a microscope. Disdainful aliens don't have to explain themselves to lab rats.

The four and a half weeks after they left the starbase were exactly what she thought they should be -- Deanna did her job, saw clients, spent time on the bridge watching the progress of their exploration of the Morgana cluster, a block of systems on the fringes of Federation borders. The various departments all saw some time surveying planets and stars, and Jean-Luc even came back from one world with several small artifacts to show her.

It was times like this that she enjoyed being in Starfleet the most -- the ship was on a mission and no one was hurt or dead in the process. Deanna had tea in Ten Forward, smiled and greeted crew -- on mornings when she wasn't booked solid for appointments she enjoyed the relaxed schedule and being able to spend time in the school with the kids, or with friends over lunch. She was able to check in with former clients and finish all her reports. A few meetings with Will and they caught up on performance reviews as well.

"Got any plans after alpha shift?" Will asked, putting down the padd he'd been using. They were sitting in Ten Forward at a viewport. "Randi and I have holodeck four reserved. We're thinking about an interactive version of a murder mystery."

"Like Dixon Hill?"

Will smirked. "No, we're thinking something more contemporary, so we can enjoy the storyline without being confused by the culture clash or the lingo."

"Well, I'll see if he wants to -- but I'm going to sickbay this afternoon."

Will's smile dwindled. "Your weekly check?"

"I realize that this makes no sense to you, but you'll figure it out if you ever get to the point that you are trying to conceive," she said sourly. She wasn't going to go into great detail about her husband's anxiety. Kate would check when she was in for the weekly injection, but it would only be a couple of days and Jean-Luc would start to wonder, and the anticipation would build. It was easier to do a second check and have an answer for him. Deanna thought that this time, she might just bring home a medical tricorder.

"It seems like you're putting a lot of pressure on yourself, that's all," Will said, shrugging. "Shouldn't it be fun?"

She laughed at him, and stood up to go. "Sorry, you don't get to hear about the fun parts. See you later. I have someone to talk to in a few minutes."

But the person standing outside her office when she got there was not Lieutenant Norris. Wesley was leaning against the wall, staring at the floor, and didn't hear her approaching; he jumped a little when she spoke his name.

"Sorry," he blurted, standing away from the door. "Can I talk to you? If you have the time?"

"Let me just check something." Deanna went to her desk and asked the computer for her messages -- sure enough, Norris had canceled. Her department was being called upon for a long range survey of the next system. "Come on in, Wes, have a seat. Want some tea?"

"No thanks." He sat on the edge of the couch and looked uneasy as he felt.

"So what's going on?" Deanna walked around the table to sit on the other end of the couch from him.

"I miss my mom," he confessed, as if it were a crime.

Deanna smiled fondly at the young man. "I do too, actually. Are you thinking you might want to join her after all, go to Earth to stay with her?"

Wes blinked, went wide-eyed, and smiled. "I didn't want to ask -- I know we're supposed to be out exploring, not -- really? Do you think it's possible?"

"We have another few weeks in this sector, then we'll be swinging back to the nearest starbase. You could easily go from there. The captain could probably find a vessel heading that direction so you could get there faster."

Wes grinned happily. "I really thought -- I was just going to ask for counseling. I didn't think it would be possible to actually go."

Deanna almost confessed that he might be able to go with herself and Jean-Luc. But she patted his arm, and reassured him, and sent him back to school. She sat alone for a while, thinking, and then decided to go to sickbay. No sense in delaying. She had a few hours left of alpha shift and no other appointments.

Kate came out of her office as she came in, and the doctor smiled in amusement. "Well, right on time," she exclaimed.

"I know this is getting to be a routine."

"That's fine -- it's not as though we're busy," Kate said with a gesture around the empty sickbay. "I even sent Alyssa home, on call but there's literally nothing for her to do unless we want to play a few hands of cards."

"Sometimes that's the way it goes. Enjoy it while you can." Deanna sat on the middle biobed and watched Kate start the usual scans.

"I've been going down to astrometrics and visiting sciences when someone else is here. Helping at the school -- oh," she blurted, watching the console.

"What is it?"

"Give me a minute." It was a tense one, and Deanna held her breath -- Kate wasn't excited, just anxious. When she finally raised her gaze she smiled and her mood shifted. "It's okay, Deanna. I just wanted to be sure after the last time -- I took a little extra time to look at the genetics to be sure it was a real baby."

It broke her. She slid off the bed and almost fell to her knees, sobbing uncontrollably. Kate caught her and held her, shocked. It took a few minutes to start to recover from the overwhelming confusion of emotion. She'd thought she was over that, but the hesitation had taken her right back into terror.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I guess it was just too much anxiety."

"This is stressful for everyone, Deanna, you know how anxious first time parents can be I'm sure. Why don't you sit down, I'll do a full series of -- " Kate turned as the door to sickbay opened, and Jean-Luc hurried in. Kate held up a hand. "She's all right. You can relax."

That was enough to keep him from rushing the bed, but he still came to stand next to it, studying her while radiating concern. "You're sure?"

"Yes," Deanna exclaimed. "I'm fine. I had a moment of -- well, for a few seconds I was afraid it happened again, but Kate says it's really a baby this time."

Jean-Luc became a statue for a few moments, his eyebrows high, then he started to smile.

"Oh for -- you can hug your wife, I promise I won't tell anyone," Kate cried, exasperated. That led to his stunned stare being directed at her.

"Don't listen to her, you're fine as you are," Deanna said, getting up from the biobed again. "Kate, I'll come back later for the rest -- I'd like to go now if that's all right."

"If that's what it takes to get him to treat you like a wife." Kate stalked away to her office. She'd not been shy about voicing her opinion about how reserved Jean-Luc could be and seemed to take offense that he wouldn't lavish affection on her in public. The comments had started about the same time Deanna had started socializing with the doctor, meeting her for lunches and trying to get to know her better.

"I don't understand her," Jean-Luc mumbled.

"You don't have to -- she's opinionated, and I don't care about many of the things she's so easily upset about. Take me home? Unless you have to get back to the bridge?"

He turned, his arm going around her waist, and walked with her from sickbay. His excitement was on the rise again. "You're sure?"

"She looked at genetics -- it's really our child this time."

He didn't seem able to speak. It was difficult -- she grinned, all the way to their deck and to their door, and she was sure his matched hers. She didn't want to look at him until they were safely behind closed doors. Once they were in, she started to cry again. Without hesitation he turned to hold her tightly. They clung to each other for a while until the wave of emotion passed.

"You're sure you're all right?" he whispered at last.

"I didn't expect it to be so overwhelming, that's all," she replied, standing back from him. "Computer, Tarkalian tea, hot."

"Neither did I. Is it a girl or a boy?" He let her go, as she turned to go to the replicator.

She laughed at his excited question. "Oh, Jean-Luc, I thought you were reading about this? It's an embryo. We'll know in a few weeks when it's more than a cluster of cells. This time, it's a real child, it will take nine to ten months to be born. We'll have plenty of time to plan and choose a name."

Jean-Luc stood in the middle of the room while she went to get her tea. When she turned back he was standing and watching her.

"You'd better get used to me being pregnant. If you're going to watch me this way for the entire pregnancy I won't be able to sleep at night."

That brought back the grin. "I'm just -- imagining."

"Imagining?" She took a sip, and enjoyed the tangy sweet tea -- nothing like the bitter stuff he usually drank. Scowling, she went to sit down. "I'm not going to look pregnant for at least three months, so I suppose you'll have to imagine it."

"If we're operating on the presumption that this is going to be our only child, this isn't something we'll ever experience again. I should document this."

To her shock, he practically bounded into the bedroom. She sighed, bemused by the extreme excitement he was feeling. It wasn't unusual to be excited when expecting, but this was an enthusiasm she had not expected from a man who had wrestled with the idea of children for so long, after decades of not wanting one at all.

He came back with a holo-camera.

"Oh," she protested.

"A time lapse," he said. "One per day. That's all I ask."

"Only if you're in it with me."

He positioned it on the coffee table and joined her on the couch. Put his arm around her. "Okay. Ready?"

Deanna giggled and gave her head a shake. "All right. Ready."

"Computer, take the picture."

She looked into the lens of the camera and thought about her unexpectedly sentimental and sweet husband, and smiled.

 

* * *

 

 

Jean-Luc was able to keep it to himself for a week and a half. He knew people were guessing what might be going on, but he said nothing, even when Data asked him why he was smiling forty-two percent more often than before.

He knew it was ridiculous, to be so distracted. So giddy. He settled in his desk in the ready room and started over -- the message to his brother and Marie telling them about the pregnancy was not going well. He kept getting a few sentences out and deleting it again. Perhaps Deanna was right and he could wait a month or two, but he wanted to share the news at least with his family.

He cleared his throat, started the recording, and said, "Robert. I hope you and Marie are well. I spoke to Deanna about your party, and I think there's a good chance the three of us will be home for it." He stopped abruptly and waited for the next few words to come to him. "Computer, pause."

Fortunate timing that, as the annunciator sounded. "Oh, come in," he sighed.

Will rolled in, with that swaying gait he had when he was at ease and things were going well. "Good morning, sir. I thought I would see if you were interested in a game of velocity, since we're moving into one of those systems where the astrometrics department takes point and the rest of us get a little time to ourselves?"

"No planets that support life, then?" He nodded. "I think we could spend an hour."

"You've been making yourself scarce lately," Will went on with that mischievous smirk. "Deanna looks pretty happy."

"Yes." Not that this was news. Overall, Deanna tended to be one of the more serene of the crew.

"She hasn't been in sickbay much lately. I guess she stopped needing those injections -- I should start that pool for the baby's birthday."

Jean-Luc stared at him -- suspected that the straight face he attempted was a failure, as Will's smirk went to a grin.

"Yeah," he drawled, bouncing his fingertips off the back of one of the chairs. "See you at fourteen hundred?"

"Thank you, Number One."

"You're welcome, Captain -- or should I say, Dad?"

Jean-Luc watched the first officer stroll out again, and smiled. "Computer, resume. While I don't believe the baby will be born by then, you will probably be around at his birth -- we're planning to find a place in San Francisco soon. I am contemplating a teaching position at the Academy.... Computer, delete message."

Tapping the edge of the desk with a finger, he thought for a few minutes. He didn't like that either. He snorted -- perhaps if he recorded an official log entry about it, he might be able to finish and send the message. He had far more practice being an officer than anything else and he'd had to record some strange log entries over the years. It shouldn't be so difficult to tell people he was having a baby. One of the problems with spending decades swearing he never would....

He was interrupted from his thoughts by the computer, and this time the person requesting entry was Data. "I have completed a summary of the first scans of the system. We are moving past the orbit of the outermost planets to examine the fourth, to further investigate the feasibility of terraforming for colonization."

"Good, good. Let me know if anything interesting develops."

Data smiled. It was difficult sometimes to not react in an untoward fashion when he did that, as sometimes his smiles were not as he intended. At the moment he appeared to be attempting a happy smile and ending up with a forced one. "I have heard that you are attempting to procreate."

"Yes," Jean-Luc said, taken aback. But Data had not been in the habit of smirking or laughing at him, nor was he a gossip.

"I hope that you are successful. Having children can bring joy and fulfillment."

"Data... I appreciate your best wishes, however -- "

"Bridge to captain -- we've got something you'll want a look at," Riker announced.

"On my way. Mr. Data?"

On the bridge, they joined Riker to stare at the main viewer, where an obvious starless oblong dominated half the screen. Data went to his station and began to bring up readings. "According to sensors there is nothing there. This is most unusual."

"Explain," Jean-Luc said.

"There is an obvious object on the viewscreen. The sensors show a region of space that has not changed from readings taken prior to the appearance of the obstruction. We should be seeing something on sensors that accounts for what we see on the main viewer."

Jean-Luc stared at the black stain, and felt Deanna's alarm -- a sense of foreboding washed over him, and he opened his mouth to say something. But the black area on the screen moved --

"Mr. Data, analysis," he said, as he arrived on the main bridge and took his seat.

"There is a spatial anomaly -- it appears to be increasing in size, sir," Data said.

"Back us off, Mr. McKay," Riker said at once. "Keep us at least two thousand kilometers away from that thing."

"If it doesn't appear on sensors I'm not sure how I can do that, sir," McKay exclaimed.

The ship shook, and lurched, and red alert klaxons sounded. "Evasive maneuvers," Riker shouted.

"Hull breaches on decks ten, fourteen -- the aft nacelle is gone -- inertial dampeners -- "

Were failing, as evidenced by the spinning and vertigo that followed, as McKay grabbed the edges of the helm and Data flew from his seat, and there was a great loud noise and Jean-Luc saw and heard nothing more.

\-- Data, report," Jean-Luc said casually, as he sat down.

"There is an anomaly interfering with our sensors," Data said, running scans.

"McKay, back us off," Riker exclaimed, staring at the inky dark area on the main viewer.

The black area seemed to leap off the screen at them. The lights flickered, the emergency power went on, the red alert klaxons sounded once and fell silent.

"Report," Jean-Luc barked. He needed information.

"All internal sensors nonoperational. Sir, the computer is offline."

A concussion above them made Jean-Luc jump to his feet, and Riker wasn't far behind. They both looked up. The dome above them that normally gave a view of the stars was dark, and then he saw _movement_ \-- a large paw pressed against the thick transparent metal -- while he gaped and Riker shouted something at Worf, the creature _pushed through_ and shards rained down, as impossible as it was --

\-- Jean-Luc came out of his ready room to stand behind Data at ops. "What is it Mr. Data?"

"We are being scanned, sir," the android announced in his calm and matter-of-fact manner.

"Any sign of the vessel?" Riker barked, leaping to his feet.

"A Romulan warbird -- two," Worf shouted. "Their weapons are charged. A third is decloaking!"

"Shields! Red alert!" Jean-Luc responded. "Mr. Worf, charge forward phaser banks -- "

"They are firing -- "

Data didn't get a chance to complete the sentence. The bridge blazed brightly --

\-- Jean-Luc left the bridge at the end of alpha shift. Things had been uneventful all afternoon. He entered his quarters and glanced around, then went into the bedroom.

Deanna was face down on the bed. Something about the way she was sprawled, how still she was, alarmed him. He was across the room in a heartbeat and checking her pulse, rolling her over, gently shaking her shoulders.

"Picard to sickbay! Medical emergency! In my quarters!" He felt again for her pulse, then her breath, then started to breath into her mouth for her, barely able to do that as he had no air in his lungs. He inhaled with a whoop and shook her again. "Deanna!"

No one came.

"Computer, where is Dr. Pulaski?" he shouted.

"Dr. Pulaski is in sickbay."

"Is there something wrong with the comms? Have her summoned here, now!" Without waiting for a response he snatched his wife up in his arms and ran.

\-- Jean-Luc waited for the transporter effect to subside, then turned to the away team. They stood on a knoll, in an open forest with grassy meadowy clearings and flowers, and the scans had indicated no intelligent life on the planet. "The ruins are this way, are they not, Mr. Data?" he asked, gesturing to his right.

"Yes, sir. I -- Sir," Data exclaimed, frowning at his tricorder. "There are two vehicles approaching."

"You said there were no sentient beings, no active civilization," Jean-Luc exclaimed. "Picard to _Enterprise_ \-- beam up the away team at once!"

Before the transporter started to beam them away, he heard a yelp -- he whirled and saw Deanna and Data struck by an intense red energy beam, and beyond them a wheeled conveyance was hurtling down the hill at them. " _Enterprise_! We are under attack!"

The next beam struck him. A searing sensation, screaming, and then --

\-- Jean-Luc stared down at the knife in his chest --

\-- Jean-Luc stared at the motionless drifting space suit for a few seconds and turned to head back for the nearest airlock. The ensign he was dragging along with him was sobbing, babbling that his suit was malfunctioning otherwise he would have gone after Jack himself --

\-- everywhere, bodies all over the bridge, blood pooling in species specific colors under each of his crew, and there were no indicators as to how any of them had been killed. Just the blood. The lifeless eyes, staring at the ceiling.

It was a nightmare.

It had to be.

\-- Jean-Luc came out of the turbolift with the phaser rifle in his hands. The half-human, half-machine creature raised its mechanical arm and the single ocular implant gleamed in the half-light of the corridor.

"You will be assimilated," came the monotone warning.

He fired. The drone fell. Then a searing point of pain at his neck, and the crawling, creeping sensation of things writhing beneath his skin started, and he heard his own voice rising in a wail of pain as the Collective pushed its way into his thoughts and took over. Before he completely lost himself he thought of Deanna -- but she was already there. In the Collective. It was as if the thought summoned the information from a vast database immediately -- human-Betazoid hybrid added to the Collective just minutes ago and already cataloged.

He had just a second to feel the grief of the loss, before he was gone.

\-- "Captain, Captain -- are you all right?"

Riker helped him up from the floor of the bridge. The viewer was dark. The dim gleam of readouts on consoles the only illumination on the bridge.

"Sensors are inoperable. Phasers are inoperable. Warp engines are offline." McKay's announcements made him wonder if anyone else were still alive.

"We should never have sent an away team down there," Riker muttered. "Sir, we should abandon ship. We don't even have thruster controls."

"How many of them are there?" Jean-Luc growled.

"Ten ships, sir."

"They'll pick off the emergency pods and shuttles at their leisure. Initiate auto-destruct sequence, computer."

The computer sounded as though he'd asked for a cup of tea. "Does the first officer concur?"

"Yes, I concur," Will said solemnly.

The computer asked for verification codes, which they gave, and then asked for a countdown duration. Jean-Luc glanced at Will and tried to find Deanna. She wasn't conscious, possibly wasn't even alive. There was nothing for him to sense, as she was projecting nothing, and she would be if she could. He briefly felt the urge to ask the computer where she was -- but that would not matter in a minute or two.

"Two minutes. Begin countdown." He glared at McKay, who was half-turned and watching them, his face illuminated in the greens and reds from his console. "Do we have any impulse?"

"I might get a little out of her, sir."

"Best possible speed right into the middle of that fleet, Lieutenant. Engage."

\-- Jean-Luc felt the bridge shudder under his feet. The Ferengi vessel was coming around for another run.

"Mr. Valenzuela, fire," he shouted. The tactical officer of the _Stargazer_ fired phasers. The ship on the viewer was caught in the process of turning -- it blossomed with fireballs along the aft side.

"Mr. N'Dov, I want you to listen closely. I want you to calculate how long we need to be at warp one to drop out of warp five thousand feet from the nose of the lead vessel. Do you understand me?"

"Y-yes, sir," the Bolian stammered. "Two seconds. Sir."

"Make it so."

But when they came out of warp, the bridge exploded -- there was suddenly hard edges of metal where there shouldn't be, and a Ferengi half-embedded in the ops console shrieking and trying to strangle the ops manager who was pinned beneath an angle of a wall that shouldn't be there, and everything was gone to hell -- why did he think he could get away with such a risky maneuver?

"N'Dov," he shouted. Something fell from above and his head exploded with pain --

\-- " -- get to the beamout point," he shouted, running across the moonlight-drenched clearing with the footfalls of the rest of the away team around him.

"Sir, they're almost caught up to us," called the ensign -- her voice was fairly throbbing with terror and she tripped. Worf caught her arm and swept her to her feet, barely breaking stride.

"Over there," Data said, his legs pistoning like the finely tuned machine that he was.

The first spear almost got Worf in the back. Everyone dodged and started to run in zigzags as more of them fell. Then there was a horrendous tearing thunk and Jean-Luc felt himself falling, landing on his face, breaking his jaw as he struck a rock --

\-- in bed, staring up at the stars.

"Are you all right?" Deanna asked, concerned.

"I don't know. I have this sudden premonition. Something's going to happen."

"What do you mean?"

"It's just a feeling... never mind. We should sleep." He rolled over to kiss her lightly on the lips, running his hand down her swollen abdomen where their son gestated.

A few minutes later, the first pain started in his chest. Deanna sensed it and was out of bed at once, calling for sickbay. But he knew he was already done. The pain, the spasms of his heart in his chest --

"I have a mechanical heart -- an artificial heart," he said, even as the stabbing pains continued. "This should not be happening."

But it happened.

His last thought as the darkness descended... this has to be a nightmare.

Has to be.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nagilim was wanting to study how people die. 
> 
> Why didn't he just do that? If he can create simulations of people to trick Picard, why didn't he force them through scenarios for a while? Your average starfleet officer has a bunch of memories just ripe for the using, after all.
> 
> Why, why, why. So we could write fanfiction about it. Of course!


	63. Chapter 63

The fifth time Deanna died, she understood that it was an illusion. She might have understood sooner but the transitions were abrupt and the rapid plunge into the next incident could be distracting. She could tell that not much time was passing, that even though some of the scenarios were lengthy. She realized first that the people she was interacting with were not the people they appeared to be -- no matter who she was with, she sensed the same muted presence, an alien one. The one she had tried to warn the captain about but been sidelined into these scenarios.

As she was able to disconnect from the intensity of the next one, as she watched the bridge blow up around her, she could finally detect others -- Jean-Luc first, as things went to pieces around her he was feeling fear and regrets that were consistent with the scenario. That might mean they all experienced the same things, though she was certain they were not in the same place at the same time.

This time, she felt the tug. The scene shifted, and now she was in a firefight -- she dropped to her stomach on the ground in sand, kept her eyes closed, waited for the end to come and the next shift. Phaser blasts and shouting and someone shook her shoulder. But she ignored it.

And then she was in a dark place, and silence. The presence surrounded her. She opened her eyes, pushed herself up slightly from the cool, hard surface she was sprawled upon, and stared into huge dark eyes hovering overhead. "What are you?"

The question wasn't audible. It was almost like telepathy, but it was a very strange entity, she felt fuzzy when it spoke. "Lieutenant-Commander Deanna Picard. I'm a Starfleet officer."

"You are not like the others. What are you?"

"The United Federation of Planets is a unified group of worlds under one governing body. Betazed is one of the member worlds. I am Betazoid. We are exploring this region of space to study stellar phenomena, identify worlds for colonization, and establish first contact with species who are sufficiently advanced to become member worlds in the Federation."

The eyes were like windows -- gleaming black and full of refracted light that looked like stars. Despite the otherworldliness of the setting, the strangeness of the entity, she was able to breathe and see, and that despite no obvious light source. "I have studied your kind for millennia. You are the first who was not embracing the situation."

"You have never studied my kind," she exclaimed. "I would know."

"Small beings in shells, you are all the same."

"To you. Not to us. If you really studied us instead of torturing us you might have understood better."

The eyes loomed closer as if that would help it understand. "What is torture," it intoned, not even asking.

"Pointless suffering inflicted on innocent creatures, intelligent beings," she shouted. "Making us think we are dying, over and over again. How would you feel if you were subjected to this?"

There was a long silence while the entity mused. She put her head down and started to cry, silently. The pressure on her seemed to be increasing. She could sense the terror, from her crew.

"How would I feel," it said, as this was clearly a foreign concept to it.

"We are explorers. We aren't here to harm anyone. We would rather die than continue this way. Please kill us -- if you won't stop just kill us."

"Interesting," it said calmly. "You would prefer not to exist. I will consider."

"No! You have to stop this now!" she shrieked. Suddenly she was in the turbolift again, on her feet and staggering against the wall. Had she ever left? The surreal encounter with the entity felt distant and unreal. "Computer, bridge."

The car moved at once. When the door opened, she wobbled out, her knees feeling unstable. What she saw stopped her in her tracks -- Worf was face down on the floor at his station, his limbs twitching slightly. That would explain what she sensed -- the emotions coming from the people on the bridge were still anxious, fearful, even panicked, but they seemed disabled. She came down past tactical to find McKay collapsed over the helm, Will slumped in his chair, Jean-Luc had fallen forward and lay on his left side, eyes wide open -- she had to move on from that quickly. Had to inhale sharply, brace herself, and decide what to do next.

The other turbolift door opened and Data emerged. "Counselor," he exclaimed.

"Oh, thank goodness -- Data, is everyone aboard disabled? What's going on?"

"More than ninety percent of the crew appears to be in an unknown state -- there are a few who are awake as we are. Dr. Selar is attempting to awaken Lieutenant LaForge at the moment."

"There is an entity doing this to everyone," she said, trying not to look at the people laying on the floor. "They're all going through some sort of lucid dreaming, being put through scenario after scenario in which they die. I'm afraid some of them will die, if we don't do something to get them out of it."

"Our options are very limited at this time, unfortunately," Data said. "We are trapped in a void that the sensors cannot detect."

"Data, we should set a course and go. Put in coordinates and go to warp. Ignore the illusion."

"I am not certain that would be advisable, Counselor."

"Do you think the entity is able to change the nature of the universe? I think it's good at creating an illusion that the universe has changed," she exclaimed. "And I don't care if it does destroy the ship -- our crew is being tortured, Data. They wouldn't want to be trapped in this like lab specimens. Let's go."

Data took a moment to mull that over, went to the helm and carefully moved McKay to the floor, then sat down. "Setting a course for the nearest starbase. Warp six."

Deanna watched the viewscreen and monitored the emotions of the crew, and the presence of the alien. She saw the eyes again, hovering in the air in front of her face, now human-sized -- it studied her. "You show awareness beyond your senses. This is new."

"Some of us have a better sense of reality. You need to let us go," she murmured. Data looked over his shoulder at her in surprise. He couldn't hear the entity -- of course. It probably considered him a computer.

"I could learn much from you. I will let them go if you will spend time with me."

Deanna's heart seized at the suggestion. She swayed, both hands going to her abdomen. Data left the helm and took her arm, escorted her to her seat. "You seem ill."

"I'm just talking to the creature. He offered to let the ship go if I stay with him."

"What creature?"

She glanced at the main viewer. It was still completely dark. "The one torturing all of us. It thinks it is learning something, but it would learn more if it would just speak with us. We're on course?"

Data stood over her. "We are. I am trusting that the sensors and the helm are accurate. I have instructed the computer to take the ship to the starbase and establish standard orbit. We should be there in two days."

"The entity is still with us. I don't think we have detected it with sensors, but it's here -- what do you see on the viewer, Data?"

The android turned to look. "I see the stars and the usual distortion caused by warp speed travel. Do you see something different?" Data's perception had changed, then. He had seen the blackness before.

"I do. You will have to remain in command, Data. I think you're the only one not affected. I will attempt to convince the alien to leave." The eyes were hovering in front of her and a blunt-nosed, lipless face manifested itself around them.

"You will fail."

Leaning back in her chair, she closed her eyes. "When we are all dead you will fail."

"I have done this for millennia. I will not fail. Nagilum does not allow small creatures to escape."

"You pretend to be bigger and stronger. You are a bully and a killer. Real science doesn't destroy what it examines."

The entity showed the first emotion since she'd become aware of it -- a flicker of ire. "I have offered you what I have offered no creature. You have had time to consider."

She sighed heavily, opened her eyes again, and dared to glance at Jean-Luc. He was upset in his coma-like state. Whatever he was being put through, it was causing great grief. "What will happen if I do not do as you want?"

"The experiments continue. Until they are unable to participate." If the crew were all like this, they would all perish of dehydration within a few days.The alien intended to use them until they were of no use, then.

Deanna glared at the face hovering before her. "You can let us go. We would talk to you about anything -- an exchange of information," she exclaimed. "There are so many stories written about all the different facets of the human experience. Why would you do this when you could get the information from the subjects themselves, first hand?"

The eyes blinked slowly, a parody of what was a normal behavior for a real person. "You are suggesting an exchange."

"I know you don't trust me, and you don't want to tell me anything about you -- fine. Let the exchange be a cessation of the torture, in exchange for the collected stories of suffering and strife in our database." It occurred to her that she had to have a way of delivering them to a noncorporeal entity. "Data, how long will it take for the computer to recite all the literature in our records that focuses on suffering and death?"

"That would take a very long time, Counselor. There are thousands of fictional works in addition to the studies and the nonfiction discussions of those subjects," Data said. Then the android's eyes shifted, as if finally able to see Nagilum's floating face. "Is that the entity?"

"You are not a life form," Nagilum said. His face appeared in front of ops, in an odd flicker like a candle going out followed by its reappearance.

"You are not the one who determines what life is," Deanna snapped. "Do we have an agreement? Or do we start the self destruct sequence? As the two remaining bridge officers we have that obligation, Data."

"I believe you are correct," Data said, turning in his chair. 

"Our weapons won't target what our sensors won't see. I won't let our crew suffer for any longer than necessary," Deanna exclaimed. "You know the captain would do the same."

"He would. Computer -- this is Lieutenant-Commander Data. I am assuming command of this vessel as acting captain."

"Acknowledged."

Data gave a curt nod as if responding to a person. "Computer, as the only functional senior officer currently on duty, Lieutenant-Commander Picard is the acting first officer of the _Enterprise_."

"Acknowledged."

"Initiate auto destruct," Data said, watching Nagilum out of the corner of his eye.

"Working," the computer replied. "Auto destruct requires authorization of the captain and first officer."

"You are attempting to destroy your shell," the entity commented. "That will kill all of you."

"We do not want to be your experiment," Deanna spat. "Let us go. We can give you a space to access the information we are offering you in return. Or we will terminate your torture without your help. You'll get more information our way, it's in your interests to cooperate instead of continuing to make us suffer!"

The face faded away and vanished. She heard a moan, and then Will started to move, pushing himself up from the floor slowly. Deanna dropped to her knees and rolled Jean-Luc on his back, touching his throat, seeking a pulse. His eyelids fluttered a little. "What...." he whispered.

"Can we get to the starbase faster, Data? I think we have a traumatized crew, to the point that we would not be able to handle a red alert," Deanna said. Nagilum was gone -- she couldn't sense the entity any longer, and the main viewer was clear, showing a typical warp speed view of the galaxy.

"I will go to warp eight. I believe we can sustain it if there are people awakening in engineering to monitor the engines per regulation."

She could tell that there was -- people were still highly anxious, and confused, coming out of whatever state the entity had put them in. Jean-Luc was looking at her now, starting to sit up and look around, and anger was of course at the top of the list of how he felt.

"What happened?" he demanded.

"I think that while Data pilots the ship we should all go talk about this, so the department heads can then explain everything to their staff," Deanna said, trying to block out the increasing levels of anxiety, fear, confusion and anger as the crew recovered consciousness. "Picard to sickbay -- please respond."

"Pulaski here -- what's happened? Is everything all right?"

"After the medical staff treat their own headaches I recommend sending someone to each department with analgesics. Come to the bridge, Kate, and I'll explain everything to the senior staff once, to save time. For the moment we're out of danger."

Data turned his chair back halfway. "I will remain at the helm while you brief the others, Counselor. Thank you for saving the _Enterprise_."

"You're welcome, Mr. Data."

Will was climbing into his chair. He groaned, and blinked across at her. "What?"

Deanna stood up and held out a hand to help Jean-Luc to his feet. "I told you this first officer business wasn't as difficult as you claim."

Data turned back to the helm with a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. She'd teased Will about that before.

 

* * *

 

"Then all of this was another game-playing entity," Will exclaimed in frustration. "I died a dozen times to make some 'researcher' happy?"

"I lost count, myself," Jean-Luc said, eyeing Deanna -- it was hard to see her in one piece and smiling, after the last scenario in which he had watched most of his senior staff fly out into space through a hole blasted in the bridge.

"I'm going to recommend a week of leave for everyone aboard," Kate exclaimed. "And counseling. Starfleet needs to send us counselors. That was -- hellish."

"You aren't exaggerating," Geordi put in. "I think I saw twenty-five different versions of how to die in engineering -- I wouldn't even have been able to come up with half of them."

Worf made an indistinct noise, a growl and a grumble -- he couldn't seem to look at anyone directly and scowled at the tabletop instead. Considering his holodeck simulations, it was perhaps better that he did not go into detail about his own experiences until he was with a counselor.

"You should all go to your quarters and rest," Deanna said. "I don't doubt you could return to duty but Data is taking us to the starbase at once, there's no need for you to be on the bridge and you should rest just in case we run into trouble within the next twenty-one hours and you need to be clear-headed. I'm going to stay on the bridge long enough to make a brief report to Starfleet Command before I do that myself."

"Before we do, I think we owe you a great debt, Counselor," Jean-Luc said. "It sounds like you were the only one who recognized the alien for what it was. Thank you."

Deanna seemed ill at ease as they all smiled at her. Except Worf, who was likely never going to smile again if his expression were any indicator. "I had some good examples to follow," she said, shrugging. "Bullying him in return seemed to work. I haven't sensed the entity again. But I will let you know if I do."

"Dismissed." Jean-Luc watched everyone stand to go; Deanna noticed he wasn't, and lingered, then sat down again as the last officer went out the door.

"Captain?"

He sighed, all the memories of all the scenarios he'd lived through flitting through his mind. "It made me relive old memories, and forced me to imagine all kinds of new ones. I've just seen you die at least a dozen times."

"I've seen you throw yourself into harm's way a few times as well. I refused to react to it after a couple of iterations. It was why Nagilum spoke to me at all. He said he has never in all the millennia he's been torturing people had anyone realize he was behind it all."

"Millennia -- you rescued us, but you've also rescued everyone else," he exclaimed with a grin. "No way to know how many vessels he's trapped that way."

"Go. Home. Counselor says that's an order. You're exhausted."

"All right, all right, let's go."

But she didn't follow him into the lift. He remembered then what she had said, and recognized that he was being slow to realize things. She was sending him off duty as ship's counselor, not being a wife. She had said she would leave the bridge after filing a report. He tried not to feel too upset about leaving. 

"My quarters," he told the computer and rode the lift alone. But it stopped on a different deck, and Randi came in. Along with Isabel Stanton and her little boy, Tommy. He didn't look happy and leaned against his mother, hugging her leg.

"Captain," Randi said. "We're all going to sickbay -- can you tell us anything about what's happened?"

"An alien entity took control of everyone aboard and ran an experiment -- we're free of it now, and we're on our way to a starbase to get help. Tommy, are you all right?"

Tommy groaned and shook his head. "He has a headache," Isabel said. "Everyone does. Thank you, Captain."

"No need to thank me. Deanna rescued us from it." The lift stopped on deck eight. "I hope you all feel better," he said, exiting to head home.

 


	64. Chapter 64

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back from the internet-less reaches of mountain trails. 
> 
> This will be one of three - already started one from Crusher/Yar's pov and will be starting another from Riker's pov. A triptych.
> 
> And yep, this is where canon is mostly left in the dirt and it becomes "what would happen if"

Deanna glanced at the half dozen hyposprays on the table in front of her. Tempting to use one of the sedatives, but she selected the analgesic and gave herself a half dose. She picked up the padd she'd been reading messages on. Now that they were docked at the starbase it was time to start repairs, on ship and crew. Mostly the crew -- the latest message was from Starfleet Medical, a list of the counselors who would be arriving tomorrow to help assess and treat the widespread trauma of the crew.

"Bridge to Counselor Picard," came the page from McKay. Now that they were at the starbase and the majority of the crew off duty pending intervention, some of the officers taking the conn were less senior than others. Data was in engineering helping Geordi with a level one diagnostic of the engines. 

"Yes, Mr. McKay?"

"Admiral Quinn is calling. He asked for the captain, and when I told him the captain is on medical leave and indisposed he asked for you."

"Put him through to the desk in my quarters, thank you," Deanna said, rising to move from the table to the desk in the corner. 

When the image flashed into being on the monitor, Greg Quinn gazed seriously at her. "Commander. I received your report about this... Nagilum, I believe you called him? And Captain Picard's brief message about the situation credits you with the ship's survival. Well done."

"Thank you, Admiral. I appreciate your help in dispatching counseling staff to help us. It's been difficult -- everyone's having nightmares and requiring sedatives. I'm having constant headaches myself as a result."

Quinn dropped his gaze in that way that usually meant the person didn't want to say what he was about to say. "I spoke with Dr. Torin directly, after receiving his report. I have assumed that you had a bias, and that Jean-Luc had one as well."

That shocked her. She watched him struggle with it, and finally raise his eyes again. "I understand," she said, at a loss for anything else to say.

"I assumed that you allowed yourself to be blinded by your feelings for each other. I had an idea that Dr. Mason was correct -- he almost did not clear him to return to active duty, before Starfleet offered him the _Enterprise_. I was setting aside my misgivings but when he contacted me after finding out about your marriage, it was -- concerning."

Deanna had nothing to say to that -- it surprised her again, but it made sense that Mason had been so intrusive with her at the conference. He thought he was finding proof of a mistake he had made.

"I reviewed Data's report and the bridge recorder footage of the incident. You addressed the situation with composure and dealt with the alien without being distracted by your concern for your friends, or your husband. I apologize, Commander, for my assumption that your relationship with your commanding officer has been compromised."

"Oh," she managed. Not the most intelligent of answers, but she was still stunned and more so with each sentence he uttered. "I... accept your apology. Thank you, Admiral."

"Please ask Captain Picard to contact me when he is able -- thank you, Commander." Quinn's hand moved, and the screen went to the usual logo.

Deanna sat silently for a while, digesting that apology. It didn't mean there would be an end to the issue, as it was obvious that other officers such as Mason were questioning as well. It did mean that Jean-Luc might be able to keep a friend, however.

She could tell when Jean-Luc awakened, and left the desk to go check on him. She sat on the edge of the bed and smiled down at him, bleary-eyed and still looking tired and groggy. "Good afternoon."

"Really?"

"You feel a little better, want something to eat? You missed lunch." She took his hand where it lay on the blanket and squeezed his fingers. "I'm glad the sedative kept you from having more nightmares."

Jean-Luc sat up, swinging his legs, so she moved out of his way and watched him get out of bed. He pulled on his pants and followed her out to the replicator.

After he had had a few bites of a sandwich she decided to tell him. He detected the shift of intention and met her eyes, questioning.

"I spoke with Quinn earlier. He apologized to me."

Jean-Luc stared at her, then put down the sandwich. "For?"

"Assuming that our relationship had a deleterious effect on our performance as officers. He watched the bridge recorder footage and decided that I'm an officer after all."

"My god," he blurted. He laughed at it, picking up his lunch again. "Hell of a time to decide that when we're about to leave." Something which he still had some mixed feelings about, but he continued to insist.

"I've spent my morning in between talking to people about their trauma doing some research. I spoke to the commandant at the Academy. She informed me that I could teach, if I had the inclination."

"I think you would be an excellent instructor. What classes?"

"She mentioned a few of the basic classes. I'd expect it, since I haven't taught before. Have you thought any more about what you would do?" They hadn't discussed it much over the past weeks. She suspected he had been doing his own research. Brooding and ruminating were his usual way of coming to his own understanding about difficult choices, and she had decided to let him do that as he wished.

"I've decided your original idea was sound. I'm not going to plan -- we'll go, and find a place to live after we spend some time traveling. I'll decide later after the nightmares stop, after the baby is born."

"After the trauma is gone," Deanna said. "I only wish I could have recognized it and done something sooner. I might have been able to spare the crew, and you, some of the trauma."

"I missed a day. Didn't take a picture yesterday." He finished the sandwich and reached for the glass of water. It was an obvious dodge away from discussion of the crew, or trauma.

"We could take two today, if you like. I'll change my dress for the second one."

He snorted at it. "I think we'll be fine with one."

"I was also thinking we could name the baby after your grandfather," she said casually.

It brought him to attention -- he stared at her, immobilized by the implication. "It's a boy?"

"Kate said that the genetics indicate that to be true, yes."

He grinned. "Well, we need to think about this a little more. I'm not sure my grandfather's name is a good choice."

"All right, we could look through some lists of baby names, I suppose."

The computer announced someone at the door. "Or answer the door. Come in!" While he spoke, Jean-Luc took his dishes to the replicator, and that put him closer to the door as it opened.

"Hi," Will said as he came in. He was in uniform, and scowling. "Got a minute?"

"Something wrong, Number One?" Jean-Luc crossed his arms and waited for the revelation.

"I was contacted by that psychologist, Dr. Torin, apparently he's on his way here -- he said he's evaluating the senior staff himself."

Deanna smiled at that, turning in her chair to face him. "But that's not a bad thing. He'll be fine. You'll see."

Will harrumphed at that. "It didn't sound like Jean-Luc was too happy with him."

"I wasn't happy about Quinn giving him orders to pry into her personal life, no," Jean-Luc said. "I think he did well enough once he did the assessment as we expected him to."

"What makes you think Quinn won't do that again?" Will asked.

Jean-Luc turned to look at Deanna with a self-satisfied grin that wasn't his usual; Will was a bit surprised to see it. "The admiral has apologized to Deanna for his assumptions. I think he's recognized that our latest encounter disproved his theory."

"Oh," Will said, the scowl vanishing while he grinned. "Well, that's great news! So we'll be able to do the work without feeling as though he's going to question every decision."

"I'm going to have something -- want something to drink, Will?"

Will glanced at her before responding. Deanna knew he was looking for a clue in her face -- he knew something was up, despite Jean-Luc's nonchalance. "Sure, I'll take a drink -- " He cut himself off as Jean-Luc went to the shelves behind his desk rather than turn back to the replicator. The two glasses he brought back with the glass decanter full of a rich golden brown liquid made Will smile.

"I don't like brandy," Deanna said. "Computer, I'd like a hot chocolate -- recipe preset six, please." She had twenty-two presets for hot chocolate, for all occasions. 

Jean-Luc plunked the glasses and the decanter on the table and went to fetch the mug of hot chocolate for her, returning with it to sit with them at the table. Once each of them had something in hand, he raised his glass with a little of the brandy in it. "Here's to the future."

"To the future," Will echoed, touching his to Jean-Luc's with a clink. Deanna held up her chocolate to let them do the same with her, before sipping -- the particular recipe she'd asked for was dark chocolate, with a dollop of fudge on top. Perfection.

"You should know, Will, that we're leaving for Earth in the next couple of weeks."

That wasn't what Will had expected to hear. He put down the glass as if afraid he might drop it. "On leave?"

Jean-Luc smiled sadly at him. "I've told you before, I think, that I'm finding this posting difficult. I'm tired of it, Number One. I've come to realize that the things that make me happy are all things that I can take with me, out of the line of fire. I'm not going to raise a child aboard a ship despite Starfleet's attempts to make that possible. So as much as I've enjoyed working with the crew, with the senior staff, and with you -- you're going to have to take it over from here." He had that sly grin as he put the brandy on the table and left his hand cupped over it, and seemed to be looking for his fortune in it. "I know it will be difficult to go on without me, but I also know you are up to the task."

Will chuckled, as expected, but went sober quickly. He gazed at Deanna for a minute. "You'll be missed more than you know, sir."

"Oh," Jean-Luc blurted, about to fend off the sentiment. But he lost steam and sat silently for long seconds. "Oh, well. There are many things that I will miss. It isn't an easy decision to make. But ultimately it makes the most sense to go, and depending on what I find myself doing once we're on Earth -- it may be that we'll see each other again more than we think."

"Admiral Picard?" At that, Will grinned again. He was going to have as much fun with this as he could, Deanna suspected.

"I really couldn't tell you. I might spend a year on leave before I find out."

"We're taking Wes back with us," Deanna said. "We'll have to, we can't designate another guardian for him ourselves. And he wants to see his mother."

"Makes sense. I was wondering how long he'd be with us, actually. He's been talking about college instead of the Academy." Will picked up his glass to take another sip. "You know, we're going to have to have a going-away party for you. And I think I'm just going to take on that project."

"Oh, no," Jean-Luc exclaimed softly. But he was smiling.

"So you'll have to tell me when you're leaving so we can get that together. On the holodeck, I think." He was already scheming; his wicked grin said so.

"There's a commercial vessel departing for Vulcan in three weeks. We'll be able to get to Earth in one more leg from there," Jean-Luc said. "I'll assume that we're going to be relying on counselors to clear the crew for duty, and that it will take at least that long to do so?"

"I need another analgesic," Deanna said, reaching for the hypo she'd used earlier. It lay with the rest of them in the middle of the table.

"Maybe you should take a nap," Jean-Luc said. "You're still suffering everyone's headaches, aren't you?"

"Not exactly. There are just too many people who aren't as good at distracting themselves from the trauma they suffered. It's a lot to take for an empath."

Will finished the brandy. "I hope you are using those sedatives. I'm having enough difficulties sleeping just remembering what I went through -- not sure how you're able to handle everyone's stress at the same time. Not to mention whatever Nagilum put you through -- you haven't said much about that."

"I recognized that it was all a fantasy fairly quickly," Deanna said. She set aside her empty mug and brushed her fingertips across her upper lip self-consciously. "It's simply wearing on me, being surrounded by the nightmares and flashbacks. Some people were quite affected by it, many were better able to shake it off." She thought that these two were among those who were struggling more than they wanted to appear to be.

"Why don't we plan to have dinner tonight, here," Jean-Luc suggested. "If you feel up to it. How is Randi?"

Will did look weary then, at the mention of his girlfriend. "She's not handling all of this well. She's in her quarters I think. Most of her department is off duty. She told me just enough that I know sciences was hit pretty hard -- I don't think that alien was letting anyone skate by, we all got to experience the losses of our friends and co-workers."

"Maybe you should go check on her and get some sleep yourself," Deanna suggested.

"I'll get back to you about dinner. See you soon." Will rose and left them there, to look at each other across the table.

Jean-Luc glanced at the hyposprays and at her.

"I know what you're thinking," she said with a smile. "But I'll only take a sedative if you join me."

"I should call Quinn first. So why don't you have a bath, try to relax, and then we'll have a nap after I've talked to him?"

 

* * *

 

When Quinn's face appeared on the monitor, Jean-Luc smiled. "Admiral, good afternoon."

"Jean-Luc," Quinn exclaimed. "Good to see you. Have you gotten my messages?"

"Yes, I reviewed my messages before I opened the channel -- I have to tell you something before I address any of it. I'm leaving the _Enterprise_ in a few weeks -- requesting a leave of absence." That would make most of the messages Quinn had sent beside the point; he wouldn't be able to address most of the issues in them.

That surprised the admiral. His gray eyebrows climbed briefly. "Are you planning to return to the _Enterprise_ after taking a leave of absence?"

"I don't plan to return to ship duty at all. Since I am uncertain as to whether I should continue in Starfleet or not, I thought taking leave would be the better choice. If unable to take the leave I would tender my resignation."

Quinn chuckled and settled back in his chair, shaking his head. "Good gods, man. You told me you were ready to get back out there -- I suppose this has something to do with your wife?"

"If it did, I would be staying aboard. She doesn't want me to go. She likes this posting. No, it's just time -- I believed that I was ready to come back, I've not been able to settle into the work with the same level of commitment. I'd rather move on to other things than continue to try to rekindle that dedication that I had before. Starfleet doesn't need half-hearted burnt out officers. It might need instructors, or ambassadors, or admirals -- it might even need a contractor, or an archaeologist."

Quinn nodded understanding. "Then I suppose I will need to find a new captain -- are you going to suggest promoting Riker?"

"He would be a good choice. It would be the easiest transition for the crew to make."

"Then I will contact him first, and discuss it with the fleet admiral." Quinn stared at him with a speculative expression.

"I'm not sure I like that look."

"I had a feeling, when you told me you were marrying her. I suspected you might be doing this. Relationships are dangerous to Starfleet careers in more ways than one, Jean-Luc."

"We've had this conversation before," Jean-Luc said. "And I agreed with you then. I don't agree now -- it's not that simple. Because I was dissatisfied before the relationship happened. I wouldn't have been talking to her, if not for the insomnia that led to the doctor suggesting counseling. I wouldn't have had insomnia if I were completely happy with my life as it was. There is no indication that I wouldn't have left Starfleet anyway -- I would have come to this point just the same, or I would have started to show poor performance. If anything the relationship kept me here longer."

"Well. You can forward your request for the leave. I am sorry for making the assumption about you, Jean-Luc," he said with genuine regret in his eyes. "But you understand, surely, that there have been those who insisted they could do the same and failed. You know that careers too often end when an officer allows himself to believe he can have intimate relationships with subordinates and still maintain solid professional relationships. I simply didn't want to see you on that path."

Jean-Luc restrained himself from reiterating what he'd already tried to tell his old friend, and nodded. "I understand." 

"And you say that, and you don't think you were ever on it," Quinn said with a shitty little grin he hadn't seen since he had hair. 

"No, that isn't true. I know that I was on it. But the key to walking any dangerous path is to walk it with full awareness, and not allow yourself to do it complacent and confident in every step -- to stay focused and protect yourself. And if you slip off, well, that was the risk you were fully aware of, and you take the consequences."

Quinn snorted. "You expect me to believe you had a plan?"

"Not at all, given your lack of such belief to this point. I'll buy you a drink when I get to San Francisco, Greg."

"I'll remind you when we get to Shotwell's."

"You do that. I'll be in touch -- we'll have plenty of time when we get there."

After the monitor went dark, he checked in the bedroom -- Deanna had fallen asleep already without resorting to the sedative, lay curled up in the blankets snoring lightly, so he decided to do as he had intended earlier. Leaving their quarters, he went down the corridor to the quarters currently inhabited by Wesley and pressed the annunciator. 

When the door opened, Wesley leaped up from the table. "Captain!"

"Wesley," he replied, waving him off, a bit alarmed by the boy's anxiety. "I just thought I would check in with you. When we spoke yesterday you were obviously exhausted, are you better today?"

Wesley grinned and seemed to relax somewhat. "Yeah. They canceled school today. I guess everyone's feeling really off after what happened. Counselor Busby is seeing the younger kids. He talked to me for a bit too."

"Good. I wanted to let you know that we'll be leaving for Earth in three weeks."

"Thanks, that's what Deanna said... 'we?' Are you coming with me?"

"She and I will come with you, yes."

"Oh. Okay." He grinned again. "Thanks, sir. I'm supposed to talk to Mom tonight, I'll let her know."

"Yes, well, I was intending to contact her myself as well."

"She doesn't know about what happened," Wes blurted. "I tried but I couldn't figure out how to describe it to her."

The confession gave him pause. Jean-Luc considered that for a few long seconds. "You mean the last alien encounter, you didn't tell her about it?"

His exaggerated shrug spoke of his anxiety. "I didn't know what to say. I mean, I should tell her, but I was sure if I told her about the nightmares and the -- " Suddenly there were tears in the boy's eyes. "I'm not sure I could even tell her -- I saw her die," he blurted.

"Wes," Jean-Luc began, feeling quite out of place and uncertain of what to do at this point. He should have waited and brought Deanna with him. "I'm sorry. You're correct, I don't know that she really needs to hear that from you. And so I think that perhaps I should let her know, without the details of what you went through, that this happened. You should have more help once the counselors that Starfleet sent us get here. I'll tell her that as well, so she knows you will be all right."

Wes wiped his eyes with his sleeve frantically. "Thanks," he replied weakly. "I'm sorry -- I just -- "

"I know. We all went through it together." He tried to smile at the boy; he was fond of him after all. "You should come for dinner with us. No need to be alone."

Wes beamed at that, and nodded too enthusiastically. "I'll be there. Thanks, Captain."

"I'll see you at eighteen hundred, then." 

Jean-Luc hurried home, to find Deanna awake and sitting on the end of the bed when he came into the bedroom. She gave him That Look.

"Sorry."

"What are you so shaken up about?"

"Wesley told me he was having difficulty talking to his mother about what happened -- he didn't want to tell her that he'd had to see her die." And it was difficult to say that much. 

Deanna's eyes went wide. "I spoke to him briefly after the briefing, and again yesterday -- I had Bergen talk to him and the other children first. Barry said Wes seemed to be shaking it off."

"I suppose he might be, but he knew he had to tell Beverly something and he confided in me."

"And that made you extremely anxious because you didn't know how to help? Or was it something else?"

He sat down heavily next to her, and tried to sort it out so he could explain. "I hadn't thought about it. How it would affect the children. That they were affected at all. Of course they were. We all were -- how could they not be affected?"

Deanna put a hand on his leg, effectively getting his attention. "The children are always affected, either directly or indirectly, by everything that happens around them. That's always true. Even if they had been exempted by Nagilum their parents would still have symptoms and that affects the children."

"But -- children, on a starship, where things like this happen," he exclaimed. 

Deanna was smiling at him, not at all perturbed. "It's strange, isn't it, that you're starting to think this way? One might assume that you are a parent."

"How do the parents -- have you talked to them?"

"Now you're accusing me of not doing my job? Or perhaps you haven't yet reviewed my report -- you have been asleep quite a bit, I suppose," she said. "Come to bed. Yes, I have seen to the civilian crew as well. And now you are going back to sleep, and see to yourself. Barry is on the job, and I've been checking in with him to make sure he's up to it as well."

"All right. Counselor Picard."

 


	65. Chapter 65

Deanna, in the end, rescued Jean-Luc from himself. He told her after their nap that he had promised Wes he would tell Beverly what had happened to him. Though he seemed in a better frame of mind after the nap, the prospect of actually talking to her about that led to such anxiety that Deanna volunteered. Mostly she thought about Beverly, and how she would react.

"Deanna," Beverly exclaimed once the connection was made. Her smiling face made it obvious that Tasha was doing much better -- the light was back in the doctor's blue eyes. "How are you? It's been a few days. You must be busy."

"Yes, it's been a little overwhelming here. I wanted to talk to you about some of it. Do you want the good news, or the less happy news?"

At once Beverly pursed her lips and the light in her eyes dimmed. "What's going on? Is Wes all right?"

"He is. We had an experience with an alien just a few days ago that left the crew traumatized -- it was one of those entities that was capable of influencing the perceptions of nearly everyone, and it was using us to study reactions of lower life forms to death and dying. Fortunately not killing anyone, but Starfleet is sending counselors and we're at starbase 395 for a while until we're all cleared."

"Is he all right?" Beverly exclaimed, more alarmed than before.

"Beverly, just breathe -- he's fine. He's coming over for dinner tonight, and we're checking on him regularly. He's doing better than the senior officers, actually."

Beverly relaxed somewhat, sitting back and looking less distressed. "I should come get him. I should never have left him there."

"We're bringing him to you. We'll leave when the counselors are done, in a few weeks, and come to Earth with him. He's missed you a lot -- I wonder if he has told you that?"

Beverly bit her lip and seemed to be tearing up. "No. But I haven't told him how much I've missed him, either. Probably for the same reasons. What was I thinking? I should have brought him -- "

"Beverly," Deanna chided. She folded her hands on the desk and leaned a little toward the monitor. "He wanted to stay. He's learned a lot while he has been here. Jean-Luc looks after him, when he needs guidance. So now that he wants to come back to you we're bringing him."

Beverly blinked, as she started to think about this a little more. "You're coming back to Earth with Jean-Luc."

Deanna smiled at her slyly. "I said that, yes. He's booked the trip already, he said."

"This is a permanent move?"

"We'll probably get a place in fleet housing for a while, until we decide where we want to live. Or travel -- it depends. I expect we'll need to find something more permanent in about nine months."

That took a few moments of startled thought but then Beverly laughed -- clapped her hands and almost bounced in her chair. "I can't wait! Oh my god, he's going to be a father -- so much potential comedy in this."

"Oh, dear," Deanna said with a sigh. She was glad Jean-Luc was taking his time showering and dressing so he didn't hear this.

"Does he know how many diapers have to be changed before a child is old enough to go on its own?"

"Bev, how is Tasha?"

It was enough -- it shifted her to a better topic, and she nodded and remained pleased and happy. "She's showing improvement. Dr. Norban said that he expects she'll recover full mobility, and she'll start talking again soon. He said that whatever Armus did seemed to reset her nervous system, but she's showing signs of getting it back."

"I can't wait to see her -- how have you been?"

The change in expression told the entire story. "I'm fine," Beverly said, with a little more confidence than her eyes showed.

"I'm sure we have a lot to talk about."

Jean-Luc emerged finally wearing a brown shirt and slacks, and crossed to the desk and leaned to see who was on the monitor. "Good afternoon," he exclaimed.

"I told her about the baby," Deanna said, smiling up at him. "And a few other things."

"Congratulations, Daddy," Beverly said with a grin. "Are you already making lists of names?"

"No, we've made up our minds already. Surak Kahless Genghis Picard has a nice ring to it, no?" Jean-Luc dodged away again toward the replicator.

"Well, of course. Why would he be serious?" Beverly rolled her eyes. "You know he'll end up with something plain and simple. Bob. John."

"He's improving the options anyway -- I think Genghis is an improvement over K'vok."

"Now I'm going to be looking at baby things -- are you having the baby here, or on Betazed?"

The questions continued, and Deanna committed to nothing, allowed Beverly to avoid talking about her son or her girlfriend. This, too, was important. It underscored that Beverly hadn't been talking about everything; she wasn't prone to babbling this way. It was a sign of stress too well contained.

After a promise of looking up decent places on their behalf, Beverly signed off and Deanna helped Jean-Luc get things from the replicator. "Wes is late," he observed as they sat down.

"I wonder if she called him after she disconnected."

Which was a good guess -- when Wes finally showed up, he came in anxious and looking it. "Sorry, my Mom called," he exclaimed. "I couldn't get away

"Get what you want from the replicator," Deanna said. "How are you doing today? Other than feeling rattled by the phone call from your mother."

"I guess I'm all right. So you told her I was coming to Earth," he said, going over to get something. 

"We did. Are you still wanting to go after you talked to her?" Deanna watched him replicate a plate of such mixed origins that she wondered if it might be a chemically volatile combination -- Bolian, Vulcan, Andorian, and a side of spaghetti? -- but refrained from commenting. Clearly Wes was asserting his independence in several ways.

"She'll settle down." Wes had evidently found some level of comfort with his guardian, instead of carefully coming to the table he hurried over and almost plopped into the chair on Jean-Luc's left, the plate thunking on the table. Jean-Luc looked askance at him and said nothing.

"She will?" Deanna asked.

Wes shrugged. "Sure. She always does. Gets all upset, works herself up, and eventually everything's okay again."

Jean-Luc didn't like that, but seemed uncertain what to say about it. He glanced at Deanna as if appealing for help.

"It doesn't sound like you care that your mother gets upset," Deanna said blandly.

"Sure I do. But everyone gets upset once in a while, it's just the way it goes, they get over it." Wes dug into his pile of food with gusto.

"Are you going to transfer to a school in San Francisco before we leave, or wait and enroll in person?" Deanna asked, diverting the conversation to the safest topic. It led to a debate about the many schools in the area -- Wes had researched them himself and knew quite a bit about some of them.

Dessert was interrupted by someone at the door. When Will came in, it reminded Deanna that Jean-Luc had mentioned inviting him to dinner. Obviously something had kept him from coming. He was agitated, and she thought he might have had an argument with someone recently. Wes took one look at him and fled -- thanked them for dinner and claimed he had some physics homework to do. After he left, Will sat down in the chair he'd left pulled out from the table, ignoring what was left of the boy's pie.

"What's wrong, Will?" Deanna asked, breaking the silence.

"The _Honshu_ just docked at the starbase. Torin just requested permission to beam aboard."

"Isn't it fairly late in the day?" Jean-Luc said.

"Is it every day that an entire crew requires counseling at once?" Deanna asked. "I did stress the urgent nature of my request to the admiral."

The annunciator went off again, and this time, it was Data, escorting Torin -- Deanna rose and came to shake his hand. He was in uniform, the only one in the room who was -- it made him look different than she remembered, though he still had the same lopsided, good-natured smile. "Deanna," he exclaimed. "I know it's technically after alpha shift -- "

"No, please have a seat," she exclaimed, gesturing at the sofa. "I believe you know Captain Picard and Commander Riker. Want something to drink?"

"Thanks, no. I -- " He took two steps toward the sofa and saw the large portrait hanging over it, and froze for a few seconds, staring at the image from their wedding. He unfroze and completed the journey, turning to sit without comment. "I had quite enough to eat and drink on the way here -- journeys through space can be that tedious on a vessel where you've nothing to do. I thought I would check in and see if you had recommendations as to how to proceed. I know that Starfleet would like the flagship back in service as soon as possible."

"Perhaps you would like a summary of what happened, to understand the context of the trauma." Deanna nodded as she sat on the end of the couch nearest the door. "I think Mr. Data has an objective perspective on the incident."

Data, who had lingered but said nothing, moved toward them with the implicit inclusion in the conversation. He stood before them with his hands behind his back as if ready to present formally. "I do. There are -- "

The annunciator went off again. Jean-Luc, on his way to sit in the chair, glanced at the door, irritated. "Come in."

Kate Pulaski strode in confidently, saw the crowd, and hesitated. "I'm sorry... I was coming by to talk to you, Deanna."

"This is Dr. Torin. He'll be helping us," Deanna explained. "Teddy, this is Dr. Kate Pulaski."

"Oh -- we spoke over subspace," Kate exclaimed, leaning in to shake Torin's hand across the coffee table. He sat down again and Kate stood next to Data, while Will perched on the other end of the couch. The doctor seemed uncertain but stayed, glancing from one person to the next.

"You were saying, Mr. Data," Jean-Luc prompted, getting them back to the topic at hand.

"Yes, sir. The incident started on the bridge, when we saw a dark region of space that did not appear on sensors." Data proceeded to describe, in his usual manner, a series of events that would have upset any human. Seeing his friends fall to the floor, unsuccessfully attempting to revive them, finding that no one was responding to attempts to communicate -- finally Torin raised a hand. It stopped Data in the middle of describing how he finally left the bridge and went to engineering.

"I would like to know what was done to solve this? Obviously the entity was able to put most of the crew in a trance state, or as Deanna said into lucid dreams?"

Data nodded toward Deanna. "She was able to communicate with the alien. When we agreed to initiate the self destruct sequence Nagilum let us go."

Torin turned to her. It was obvious what he wanted -- she would want the details as well, in his shoes. And she knew he would be tracking her emotional state while she provided them. She thought about asking for privacy, but the people in the room probably needed to hear her confide in him -- it would be difficult for them to do it themselves, and perhaps it would be easier if she went first.

"I was on my way to the bridge when the alien took over," she said. "It put me through scenarios -- it was as though they were real. Except I was unable to sense anything from the ghost people he projected and I could sense Nagilum -- I was trying to get to the bridge to warn the captain about his presence, in fact. After a few of his scenarios I stopped participating in them and he started to speak to me. When I finally got to the bridge, I wanted to explain to Data what I thought we should do and let him decide, but I didn't want to talk strategy in front of Nagilum."

"That explains it," Will said. When everyone looked askance at him, he went on. "The bridge recorder -- I saw the recording. Data took command, but she told him what to do."

"He could have overridden my recommendations. I knew he would understand that."

"Where is this recording?" Kate exclaimed. "Can I see it? I'm intrigued."

Data turned to the doctor. "The footage from the bridge recorder is only accessible to command personnel. I have not seen it. However, I have perfect recall and I can tell you exactly -- "

"Data," Deanna said quietly. It drew his attention back to her, and he stopped talking. "After Nagilum let us go, people started to wake up. The fear started, the anxiety. People have been experiencing nightmares. I've had headaches every day."

Torin watched her with the same benign expression she probably had in counseling sessions. "You don't sound traumatized, yourself."

"I don't believe so. I never truly believed I was about to die while Nagilum played out each scenario. I knew there was something wrong, something off, and I couldn't feel that any of it was real, any more than I can immerse myself into a holodeck simulation fully."

Kate stood with crossed arms with her smirk in place, though she was more concerned than she was showing. "So you aren't traumatized. But we're all still having nightmares? People are coming to sickbay daily asking for sedatives to force themselves into deep dreamless sleep."

"Not Data. Not Selar, nor some of the other non human crew. But yes, you are," Deanna said, glancing at Will as well. "Everyone whose psychology includes nightmares or insomnia as a trauma response."

"There's just something about experiencing death more than a dozen times over that makes it difficult to sleep at night," Will exclaimed, waving a hand disdainfully.

Torin was taking it all in, glancing from one face to the next, but appeared to be watching Jean-Luc the most -- the conversation was affecting him differently. "Captain, how are you feeling?"

That startled him. Jean-Luc raised his head; he'd been staring at nothing while the rest of them talked. "I'm better, but as she said, it's still difficult to sleep without a sedative. I find myself thinking about the experience unless occupied with other things. Typical symptoms of trauma -- the scenarios to which I was subjected were sometimes things I experienced already. So I also was doubting the experiences, but I was unable to do so to the point that I could break out of the cycle on my own."

Deanna gave Teddy a look. He seemed to understand. Rather than ask again the question that Jean-Luc hadn't really answered, he moved on. "I think I will start in the morning, meeting with senior staff individually. Except for you and Mr. Data."

"You can use my office on deck two. Thank you, Teddy. Please let me know if you need anything."

"I will escort you to your assigned quarters," Data said pleasantly. 

"Thank you," Teddy said with a grin. He rose, as they all did, and when he followed Data from the room and the door closed, Deanna sensed relief from Will. He'd never been comfortable with counseling, had never gone to it even when she urged him to, and didn't like the occasional assessments that officers were given. 

"What did you want to talk about, Kate?" Deanna asked, sitting down again. Jean-Luc made his way around the coffee table, past Will and Kate, to the bedroom door and disappeared inside. Will now crossed his arms, unconsciously mirroring Kate.

"I wanted to set up a meeting with you, to discuss some possible changes in the medical department -- I guess it can wait until Torin is done with his assessments."

"You should set that meeting with Bergen," Deanna said. "I'm resigning from this position soon -- we're leaving in three weeks. I was going to tell everyone in the next staff meeting but obviously you need to know now."

Kate gaped at her, at Will, and at her again. "I'm not sure I know how to feel about that. Why? Because of the baby?"

"That's some of it, but not all."

Jean-Luc returned and nodded to their two remaining guests. "At the risk of sounding inhospitable, I think we can talk again tomorrow," he said. "You may notice that she looks tired."

"She does indeed. Maybe we can sit down for a cup of tea tomorrow sometime," Kate said warmly. "Good night."

"I'll push off as well," Will said. "See you in the morning." He followed the doctor from their quarters.

Jean-Luc nodded toward the bedroom door. "Come along, Mrs. Picard."

"What are you up to now?"

He led the way into the bathroom. He'd filled the tub with steaming water, and as she approached she could smell her favorite bath salts, a lemony mint combination. She beamed at him as he reached up to help her take off her dress. "I think you might be trying to take care of me for some reason?"

"I might be trying to get you out of your clothing." He let go and watched her pull the dress over her head. "Are you complaining? We've spent the day sleeping the hours away, we haven't really talked much."

"True." Deanna dropped her bra and panties on the floor and stepped into the tub. "What do we have to talk about?"

"I finally broke down and called my brother directly this afternoon, while you were asleep. I told him about coming back to Earth. He reasserted his offer to let us build a house on a corner of the property."

She settled into the water and looked up at him, sitting on the edge of the tub watching her. "It sounds like you want to do that."

"We're going on vacation, as we agreed. I don't want to make decisions now." But she could tell that something about the idea resonated with him. He was conflicted in much the same way as he'd been about having children.

"We'll go on vacation. We can even visit them for a while before we travel, if you like. And we'll make that decision about where to live when we are ready," she agreed. It would be a wonderful vacation, she thought, and no doubt, he would continue to think about what he really wanted. But she suspected she might be living in France within the year, if everything ran true to the pattern he was following.  


	66. Chapter 66

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Threads from earlier in the story will be coming out.
> 
> If you are wondering what is going on with Riker et al - that's another story to tell. Basically the folks left on the ship have been working through the episodes of season 2, but without Troi or Picard. This is the story of this couple. There are two other stories to finish to round it all out. At the mid-chapter break, the timeline jumps a few months, and elsewhere Riker gets to encounter Q and get yanked over to the gamma quadrant to visit the Borg. And that makes waves at Command.

Deanna opened her eyes at the sound of the pleasant bells they had chosen for a door chime. She was groggy as she often was after a nap; sadly she had fallen into the habit of afternoon naps lately, and sighed heavily as she realized she hadn't done everything she'd intended to do before her friends arrived.

"Come in," she said, sitting up on the black sofa that took up most of the space in the living room of their San Francisco apartment. The rumpled bright yellow house dress would have to do. "Computer, replicate presets four and sixteen." She stood as the front door opened and happy voices echoed down the short hallway. Tasha came out into the living room first, moving more easily than before -- she had been wearing mechanical braces on her legs for six weeks, and must have finally made enough progress to abandon them altogether. Her hair was now shoulder length. She had a shimmering teal pantsuit on, and a big grin.

"It's so good to see you," Deanna exclaimed, walking into her friend's outflung arms to exchange a fond embrace.

"He's getting bigger," Tasha said, standing back to look down at the bulge in Deanna's dress. "I guess it's been that long."

"Three weeks -- you had fun on Risa?" Deanna turned to study Beverly, who stood there in a lovely dark blue dress with a happy, affectionate smile and her arms crossed in a relaxed stance, waiting her turn. They hugged and Deanna turned to go to the replicator in the corner.

"This is one of those apartments with no kitchen, isn't it?" Beverly commented.

"Why would I want a kitchen here? We'll have one in the house." She turned to bring her guests tall glasses of their favorite beverages, and went back for her own. As she took the last glass, the replicator finished her order; a platter of the various finger foods she favored this week. Returning to the middle of the room, she put it on the low table and sat, and her friends settled on the shorter section at a right angle from her, Tasha reaching to sample something from the tray.

"So you had fun?" Deanna prompted again.

They looked at each other smugly. "Yes, we did indeed," Beverly said. "We sat around on a beach being waited on. Tasha started to walk without the braces a little more each day we were there -- Dr. Norban finally approved her freedom from them when we got back for her followup yesterday. She's mostly done with her recovery at this point. It's such a relief! Now she can start working out and building her strength back up."

"Are you still wanting to return to active duty?" Deanna knew Tasha had been vacillating and having mixed feelings about Starfleet in general.

"If I do I'd rather stay on Earth, I think," Tasha said after a pause. Beverly's moment of surprise suggested the two hadn't discussed that yet. Or if they had, Tasha hadn't come to any conclusion that she had shared.

"That will be nice for Genghis, to have his auntie close at hand," Deanna said, reaching for one of the spicy canapés and popping it in her mouth. She'd been calling the baby Genghis for three months now, to Jean-Luc's chagrin. At least he had stopped joking about names and started to be serious about it as a result.

"You two had better choose a better name than that," Beverly exclaimed with an eye roll. She sipped her tea and nibbled on something, and made a face. "What the hell is this?"

"Tengidrian canapés. I have been wanting very spicy foods lately. There's nothing wrong with Genghis."

"Jean-Luc winces when you say it. I wince when you say it." Beverly gamely finished chewing and swallowed. Chased it with a mouthful of tea. "You'll never guess who gave us a ride from Risa to starbase 326."

"That's easy, since Will called two days ago," Deanna said. "He said you were both looking great."

"He was trying to talk me into coming back. I guess Worf isn't working out so well," Tasha said sadly. "I really had high hopes for Worf. I tried to talk to him but he's a typical Klingon. He probably didn't want me to think badly of him."

Deanna shook her head. She'd had one conversation with the Klingon since she and Jean-Luc had left the ship. While aboard they had at times felt some camaraderie just being the two aliens on senior staff. Worf appeared to need the proximity, the close contact, to maintain that. She'd wondered if Will's style of command might cause friction with Worf.

"Did Will talk to you about Randi?" Beverly asked. Judging from her anticipatory anxiety, she had news about something.

"He said she was fine and they were doing well together, but nothing specifically about her, why?"

"I think they might be talking something permanent," Tasha said gleefully. "She was so happy."

"I'm pretty sure they are," Beverly said. This time, she selected something other than the canapé -- Deanna kept herself composed until her friend bit down on the stuffed Rigellian pepper and winced. "WHAT the hell," she cried, spitting it out in her palm.

"Sorry," Deanna said, shoving herself back to her feet. "I think the green ones would be more to your liking. I'll be back -- I haven't hit the point of needing ten bathroom breaks per hour, but I need to go."

While she was in there, waiting for things to happen, she focused a little more on what had been background "noise" -- Jean-Luc was in his office at the Academy. After their initial month of wandering from town to city to countryside, spending a week with his brother and identifying the corner of the Picard vineyards that would be best for the new house, talking to contractors, and letting Marie bury them in fabric samples and color schemes -- after they had chosen an apartment for their San Francisco base of operations, on the edge of the Muir Woods in the Mill Valley area -- Jean-Luc had started to feel the inevitable restlessness she had anticipated, and seriously look around at positions in and out of Starfleet. And he spent time talking to Quinn, who introduced him to other admirals. She had gone with him, nonverbally gave him feedback as to the emotions of the people trying to persuade him to take a position in strategic operations or diplomatic corps. And so after sorting through it all he was now a rear admiral, in charge of the Academy.

Today, he was addressing the latest incoming class of cadets, orienting them to the culture of the Academy -- which had changed since he took command. She suspected that was done -- he was emanating emotions that indicated he was likely talking to staff. He'd found that some of his new subordinates were less than happy about the changes he was making, so dealing with some of them was an exercise in patience. It was easier to be a starship captain where his decisions were accepted without question most of the time.

Deanna washed her hands and returned to the living room, to find Beverly had brought in a bag and placed it where Deanna had been sitting. "Oh," she exclaimed, grinning. "Is this for me?"

"No, silly, it's for the baby I refuse to call by the ridiculous name you're using right now," Beverly scolded. "Have a look."

The bright red bag held a collection of baby clothing that, when spread out for viewing, took up most of the end of the couch. Deanna could tell who had gotten which -- Beverly was likely behind the practical ones, the stain-resistant and basic primary colored outfits and the bibs and the warm hats and booties. Tasha had to be responsible for the goofy ones, with animals and slogans on them. Picking up a tiny replica of a Starfleet uniform resulted in Tasha grinning ear to ear.

"Thank you," Deanna said warmly, picking up a translucent red pacifier. "You could have waited -- Marie is planning a baby shower at the winery."

"Oh, we'll do that too," Tasha exclaimed.

"He's going to be a very well dressed baby," Beverly commented.

"Maybe I should see if you would like a nanny," Tasha said. "I would be able to see to security for the house and take care of diaper changes at the same time."

Deanna laughed, and thought about joking that maybe they should have a baby of their own. But Tasha's feelings were mixed, as she laughed about her suggestion -- something about them set Deanna on guard, and so she said nothing.

They talked about Risa, as she asked questions about the things they'd done -- Risa had activities and many pleasures that no other planet offered, and Tasha had tried many of them, especially ones that didn't involve a great deal of physical activity. Beverly had gone to a medical conference that had happened to be held while they were there, and Tasha had attended a martial arts tournament. Then suffered a bout of depression, Deanna guessed, as talking about the tournament was mildly disturbing for her. Beverly had mentioned in confidence that Tasha's mood swings had been difficult for her to handle.

When the front door opened, Deanna knew it was Jean-Luc -- some days he was able to come home early. She leaned to put her glass on the table and stood up to greet him. He strode in and hesitated upon seeing their guests. "Well, hello," he exclaimed.

Beverly stood up as well. "Admiral Picard, I presume."

"Oh," he scoffed, crossing to give her a hug. "Welcome back -- I understand Risa is boring as hell, you must have hated it there."

"Come eat some of these," Tasha invited, waving her hand at the half-full tray of appetizers.

He stepped back from the brief embrace with Beverly to come around the table and lean in to kiss Deanna's cheek, and sit down with her, with his arm across her shoulders. Beverly stared at them; a sly grin spread across her face.

"Beverly," Deanna scolded.

"I am merely happy that you are both obviously so well adjusted to life on Earth," she said. "You look so grounded and content together. It's hard to believe you're the same man who swore to Jack that you'd never be caught dead in an admiral's uniform."

"Hard to believe, but evolution happens to the least deserving of us just the same," he said tolerantly. He'd been hearing similar comments from everyone -- his friend Quinn, Will Riker, even Greg Norman had cheered the changes.

"Naw, I think you deserve to be happy," Tasha said. "Bev, let's go -- it's getting later and we have barely enough time to get there."

"We're meeting Wesley for an early dinner," Beverly said. "We should get together tomorrow -- go dancing after dinner."

"If she's feeling up to it," Jean-Luc said, turning his head to look at Deanna.

"We'll let you know," she added amiably.

They followed their friends to the front door to see them out, and then after the door closed behind them Jean-Luc started to take off his uniform. With the jacket hanging open, he paused and dropped a hand to her belly, sliding his palm down the gentle slope. "You're doing better today?"

"I am. I had three appointments this morning. I came home for lunch, and took a nap before they got here. How was your day? Are all the new cadets oriented, billeted and set free to terrorize the bars of San Francisco?"

"Indeed. I have a proposal for you," he said, starting to amble down their hallway and sliding his hand into the small of her back.

"I'm married, sorry," she said with a smirk.

"Deanna." He snorted at her joke. Instead of returning to the couch, he guided her toward their bedroom, at the end of another short hallway to the right of the living area. "I'm meeting with Quinn and some other admirals tomorrow at Command. I want to put a counseling center on the Academy grounds. I want you to run it."

"Me?" She hesitated just inside the bedroom door, and watched him go to the end of the bed to drop his jacket, his undershirt, his pants, on the bedspread. The bedroom was done in greens, with a soothing palette of lighter softer shades.

"They refuse to go to Starfleet Medical. They don't want what they talk about to end up in their permanent record."

"But medical records are completely separate - confidential, unless something happens and there's a reason to subpoena the record."

"Oh, you can explain that," he said, waving a finger as he turned to head for the closet. "You can show them regulations that state that. The rest of the equation is that cadets have precious little time for external activities. Going all the way across campus to Command and walking through that campus is a level of exposure they don't care for, and it takes time to get there that they can't afford to spend."

Deanna found herself resting her hands on either side of her belly. Genghis was fluttering around, and she was feeling a little of the indigestion that had been plaguing her lately. "So you want to have a facility on campus so they don't have to leave. Perhaps the offices should be in an existing building, like the gym or the weapons range, so that cadets feel safer about going -- they can tell friends they're going to the weapons range for target practice."

"It's obvious after talking to a handful of the latest batch entering the Academy that it will be needed." Rather than put on some civvies, he dropped his briefs and stepped out of them. "You understand it, you would be an ideal director for the project. You can organize it, hire appropriate counselors, and manage it while seeing your few private practice clients?"

Deanna smiled at his confidence in her -- what a wonderful thing, to have a husband with such faith in her. "I'm going to be incredibly busy. You might have noticed the baby?" A light thump against her palm startled her. She laughed. "Oh, that's new! I can feel him kicking against my hand."

That led to having Jean-Luc trying to follow the baby's movements with his hands. When he finally got to feel the first kick he laughed for joy -- he was so happy about it that he completely forgot everything else, leaned down as if he could hear the baby that way, his hands pressing in on her slightly as he tried to feel the baby kick again.

"André," he murmured.

"That sounds nice," she replied. "I like it."

He straightened, and took her hands in his. There was no self consciousness in him, as he stood there with her enjoying the moment they named their son.

"This is the happiest day of my life," he said after long moments of silent communion.

"You've said this before. You might say it again, possibly on André's birthday." Deanna smiled -- she remembered too well the nervous captain who questioned and experienced varying levels of anxiety about being in a relationship, about marriage, about the possibility of children, and as the memories flickered through her mind he shared them with her and his grin went sheepish. He swayed close and hovered with her cheek to cheek.

"Thank you," he murmured. "I wasn't as confident -- I wasn't making it easy to be with me."

"I don't know that I agree with that. I knew how you felt about me. It was your feelings about yourself that you allowed to get in the way."

He sighed heavily. "I know that you're right. But I've changed. Mostly, I think, because I have been determined to focus on something more important -- how I feel about you, and our son. We're going to be a family. I never believed that would be possible -- I never thought I would want it to be."

"You've been feeling confident about your position, enjoying the work despite your misgivings about admiralty, and so I'm going out on a limb with asserting that we have a very bright future ahead of us."

He held her tightly for a moment. And as tended to happen, the moment passed, and they moved on. "Are you getting in the spa with me?"

"I will, though not for very long. I'm starting to get hungry again." She followed him into the palatial bathroom, where the jetted tub for two awaited. Being four and a half months pregnant made her ravenous most days, and body aches had started to manifest themselves here and there. But she was already calculating how much sleep she would need tomorrow before they went out with their friends, and anticipating that it would be fun.

 

* * *

 

Jean-Luc stood on the balcony outside his office and looked down on Academy grounds, as he sometimes did. The lawns and flower boxes were maintained by a small crew of students these days. Boothby had moved on, who knew where. Change was the order of the day.

He knew Deanna would be in the big building on the far right of his field of vision. They had established the counseling center in the same building as the anthropology and geology departments, tucked in a corner and out of the way of main corridors. For the past few weeks, she'd stopped projecting her emotions as she had before, so he had the vaguest sense of her being near.

It was a glorious summer day in San Francisco, with clear blue skies. The Academy campus was between the Presidio on the west and Starfleet Command on the east. There were sailboats on the bay, and below on the broad green lawn a small group of cadets were practicing in formation for the next parade. He thought about taking a stroll around the grounds, a distraction from worrying about Deanna, but decided he didn't have enough time before the handful of appointments on his schedule began.

"Sir?"

He turned and stepped back inside the open door, and the force field automatically went back on behind him. "Yes, Lieutenant?"

His adjutant, Melinda Womack, was a willowy young woman with meticulous grooming -- her blond hair was gathered on the back of her head in the same way each morning. The uniform only made her appear thinner. She smiled, in the controlled, formal manner of someone determined to be professional. "Sir, Admirals Quinn and Mendez are here to see you."

"That's fine, see them in. I expect you've already cleared my schedule?"

"I have, sir. I rescheduled the two meetings with Cadets Moreland and H'noda. Would you like me to bring in coffee?"

"Yes, thank you."

He sat behind his broad desk and glanced around at his office, stark and clean, done in shades of red and gray. It was as big as his old living room, back in the captain's quarters aboard the _Enterprise_. Deanna had brought in framed pictures and some of his artifacts to populate the shelves on the wall to his left. Yesterday she had put a small vase of white and red roses on the end of his desk, brought from the potted bushes on their balcony at the apartment.

When Quinn and Mendez entered the room they were smiling. "Jean-Luc," Quinn exclaimed. "We wanted to talk to you about a special project."

"All right." Jean-Luc glanced up as the lieutenant returned with a tray and arranged the coffee pot, three cups, and condiments on the end of his desk. She reached for the pot but he waved her off, and she gave a curt nod and left the room again. "What special project? Care for some coffee?"

"We're building a task force to address the threat posed us by the Borg," Mendez said, standing at the end of the desk to pour coffee. He passed the first cup to Quinn and started another.

That was startling news. "I presume the goal would be to mount an adequate defense?" Jean-Luc stood himself and poured a cup for himself, and sat back down.

"It would indeed."

"Then they have moved past the Neutral Zone?"

Mendez shot a look at Quinn, who sipped his coffee and nodded slowly. "Jean-Luc, the _Enterprise_ encountered the Q entity again. It threw the ship far from Federation space, into Borg space. They engaged with one of their ships. Riker managed to bring back ship and crew without serious damage to the ship. But given your report from the Neutral Zone, what you learned from the Romulan commander, and what was observed by the _Enterprise_ we have a long way to go to be prepared for a real incursion -- and now the Borg have scanned the flagship of our fleet, they have more information about us than we have about them, and we need to prepare our fleet for the worst case scenario."

"You gave me the Academy. Are you suggesting a reassignment? I've only been here for five months, Greg."

Another look passed between the two. Mendez smirked. "You thought this would be an easy sell."

"Jean-Luc, you sound as though you like it here?" Quinn had a basis for his uncertainty

"Was I supposed to dislike it for some reason?"

Greg Quinn eyed him for a moment. "We need to get our fleet ready for this. You have first hand knowledge of these Borg, and we're not pulling Riker out of the field -- we need him out there along with every available starship captain we've got. We need better weapons and we must develop a strategy."

Mendez plunked his cup on the leading edge of the desk. "And, we might need someone to talk to the Romulans. You were the one who managed to have the only contact with them that we've had in decades, and it was the closest thing to friendly as we've ever gotten with them."

"You need to talk to my wife more than you need to talk to me."

That startled both of them. "Commander Picard is the director of your counseling center, isn't she?" Mendez asked.

"She had direct experience with the Borg, and with the Romulan commander, and my success in that encounter was largely because I was guided by her sense of both species. If you expect me to participate in whatever you're planning to do, I'd only be helpful if she were there participating. Not because I want her there, but because she's needed."

"As I understand it she's nearly eight months pregnant," Mendez said. "Surely she intends to take maternity leave."

"I see you haven't met my wife. She does as she pleases. Our expectations are quite beside the point."

Quinn chuckled -- he'd been over several times for dinner, had them over for dinner, and Deanna had proved to him that when she wanted to she was quite capable of winning the argument and handing him his ass. "If you're going to make this case for her involvement, perhaps you could have her come meet with us."

He tapped on the key in the lower corner of the console on his desk. "Lieutenant, contact the counseling center and request Commander Picard to my office, please."

"Aye, sir."

"It will take a little time for her to get here," Jean-Luc said. "Did the _Enterprise_ have any casualties?" 

"A few. If you take on this project we'll give you full access to those records, of course." Mendez paused. "There are a few other vessels that have provided some information regarding the Romulan Empire as well."

"I haven't been paying any attention to much news about the Romulans, if there's been any. Have we been able to establish any diplomatic presence?" It was a recommendation he'd made, in his reports after their time on the Neutral Zone.

"Messages were sent. I spoke with Sarek, the Vulcan ambassador, to obtain some advice on the matter. I wanted to see if he might be willing to lead the diplomatic effort." Quinn wasn't happy with Sarek's response, apparently. "There's been no progress."

The door opened, and all three men turned their heads and watched Deanna, looking very pregnant in the unflattering maternity uniform, waddle in. It still amazed him that she was only seven and a half months, and likely to get bigger. Rather than a single garment the maternity version had a jacket and pants with adjustable gussets to accommodate girth and she found it annoying that she might have to get another jacket in a larger size. She more often clipped back her hair and let it cascade down her shoulders rather than attempt to put it up in a style requiring more effort.

She glanced at the admirals, smiling pleasantly, then turned to him as she stopped at the corner of his desk. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Have a seat, Commander," Quinn said, gesturing to the chair on his right. 

She went around them to do so, settling with her hands on the sides of her belly rather than in her lap since the baby now filled most of the space. 

"Admiral Mendez and Admiral Quinn have a project they would like us to help them initiate," Jean-Luc said. Of course, she was reading his reaction to the suggestion, and her smile diminished slightly. 

"We have been tasked with building a defensive strategy against the Borg," Mendez said. 

Deanna's immediate reaction was to turn to stone. Jean-Luc knew that she was alarmed and trying not to show the fear that was likely a byproduct of guessing why such a thing would be necessary. 

"We want Jean-Luc to lead the task force," Quinn added, gesturing at Jean-Luc. "He said that you should be involved."

She turned her dark eyes to him, and for a dizzying moment they were together, then she relaxed and turned a smile on Quinn. "You already have our logs and reports on our experience with the Borg, though."

Quinn appealed to Jean-Luc with his tired blue eyes. "That isn't enough."

"I suspect there are quite a number of admirals who have read our reports, heard from Riker, and heard others' reports, and they are perhaps terrified -- rightly so, I would say," Jean-Luc said. "The Borg are terrifying."

"Are you ordering us to leave our positions and run this task force? Or would it be possible to assist the effort and retain our current placement?" Deanna asked.

Quinn glanced at Mendez, who answered. Mendez was in strategic operations so that made sense -- he was likely the one spearheading the effort. "It's obvious that neither of you wants to leave. I'm willing to compromise -- when we have a team assembled we'll have you consult with them as needed. But I believe you also understand that this needs to be a priority. The Federation itself is in danger, if the reports from the _Enterprise_ are to be believed."

Deanna pursed her lips and stared at Jean-Luc, a bit confused by this, and said nothing more. Jean-Luc nodded. "We understand, Admiral, and I assure you we'll do whatever we can. I think we can make it work. Who do we need to contact?"

"I'll forward you names and all the information we have on the Borg. Thank you." Mendez rose from his chair, leaned to shake Jean-Luc's hand across the desk, and turned to go as Quinn also shook his hand.

"I'll get in touch later," Quinn said. He gave Deanna a nod and turned to follow Mendez from the office.

Jean-Luc stood with hands on his hips and looked at his wife. She had that resigned expression. "I wondered when the Borg would become an issue. What do you think?"

"I wish we didn't have to do this. What did he mean, reports from the _Enterprise_? Have they encountered the Borg again?"

"Evidently Q threw them into Borg space. It accelerated things significantly, or Command wouldn't be so frightened. More proof that Q is a dangerous entity."

"Or, he may have done us a favor," she replied. "You may not like his methods, but I am assuming that the _Enterprise_ survived the encounter to tell the admirals about the experience. So Q did not abandon them there. He gave them a brief exposure to the Borg."

He sat down and laughed, incredulous, delighted. Resting his hands on his head, he gazed at the screen embedded in the desktop, which showed his ever-growing list of messages. As he watched another one appeared on the top of the list, bumping the headers down. That hadn't changed with the promotion -- if anything, the number of demands on his time had increased. But since it gave him the ability to have his family at home on Earth, it was tolerable. He did enjoy the work he had. He still had occasional nightmares about seeing Deanna die in one of Nagilum's scenarios, though, and at times he would wake up and find himself rattled by one of her dreams. He had, upon their return to Earth, gone looking for a private therapist outside the Starfleet umbrella and started the work of addressing the trauma that he hadn't been able to do on the ship.

"I don't suppose you have the time to stay for lunch," he said. 

"I shouldn't, but I'm tired and I don't want to walk back to the clinic just yet." A wince flitted across her face. When he became concerned, she shook her head. "It's nothing. Just a little of the back pain again."

"You're keeping feelings from me, which suggests you're in more pain than not. Which says that you should be at home resting."

"I can't just rest all the time. There's work to be done -- and now there's more of it than ever."

"When is your next doctor appointment?"

Now there was a wry twist of her mouth. "Next week." She winced again.

"Deanna!"

"He's kicking. There's nothing to be done about it. I can't keep him from kicking." She held the sides of her belly and leaned forward slightly. "You said once when Senna came to the _Enterprise_  that pregnancy sounded like a profoundly uncomfortable experience. You had that right."

"I was a master of understatement, clearly."

"I've only been keeping my emotions hidden so I don't disturb you while you're here. I've been having some irrational moments here and there."

"All of this only reinforces that we don't need to repeat this."

 She smiled sadly. "Jean-Luc. It's just discomfort. I'm all right. Just because I cry once in a while -- that's only hormones, not anything dire." 

He sighed -- he knew she wasn't telling him everything, and it was easy to guess it was because he struggled with the symptoms she was experiencing. As the baby grew she'd started to have more aches and pains and digestive issues, and his initial reaction to the first wince at a muscle spasm in her lower back that he'd felt second-hand had been to take her to Starfleet Medical. The end result had been an analgesic and a trip back home, with a stern look at him from the doctor on duty.

"I know it isn't easy to watch me go through this," she said softly, finally voicing what she'd probably been reading from him all along. "But it isn't as bad as it could be."

"I don't understand why there isn't a way to make it easier." So far, he'd watched her resort to medications for all sorts of minor issues. Some of them more irritating, some painful.

"It hasn't even been so difficult, Jean-Luc. It's not unusual to have more symptoms than I've had."

A double tone from the desk interrupted them. "Sir, I'm sorry to interrupt. Should I cancel the third appointment as well?"

"No, Melinda, I'm on my way out," Deanna said. "I'll go down to the dining room and wait for you, Jean-Luc."

Jean-Luc watched her lever herself up from the chair, which would have been easier if it had arms, and move ponderously toward the exit. "I shouldn't be long."

"Take your time. I might nap on the couch in the dining room."

The short meetings with cadets who committed minor infractions were usually not complicated -- this one was no exception. A stern scolding, an encouragement and a verbal kick out the door took him twenty to thirty minutes at the worst. He went down a floor to the administrative staff's dining hall and found her alone at one of the dozen tables, nibbling instead of napping. 

She watched him sit down at the small round table with her, quite serious and thoughtful. "If I start sharing my emotions with you again, will you promise to help me instead of taking me to the hospital?"

"Only if you're able to reassure me you're not needing medical attention."

She smiled sympathetically. "That would be the trick, wouldn't it? Knowing what to say to help you not feel the anxiety that overrides everything you read about pregnancy?"

"So tell me what would have helped when you were having the pain in your back?"

She chewed on something crunchy while fishing around in the bowl -- she had a habit of picking out the things she really liked and leaving the rest. The mix of vegetables looked like her usual afternoon snack, but it wasn't afternoon yet. "Maybe massaging my back? I took an analgesic as well."

That was a suggestion he remembered from somewhere, possibly Beverly's advice. He'd forgotten it in the heat of the moment when he'd needed it. "If I promise to listen to you will you start sharing with me again?"

"If you take me back to the medical center for another muscle cramp -- "

"Yes. I won't panic again."

Her brows drew together in a dubious peak. "You were Captain Picard, under attack. You didn't give me a chance to even reassure you."

"I can do this. Just tell me what you need."

Deanna pushed the bowl away a few inches. "I need you to trust me when I say whatever I'm feeling doesn't require hospitalization. If there's bleeding, or sharp pains, or something very serious, I'll just scream. All right?"

"Uh...."

"Jean-Luc," she cajoled, giggling. "Please try to relax. I'm not going to go off like a bomb. I'll tell you when I need a doctor."

"Okay." He looked up at her eyes again, and smiled as she re-established their usual two-way connection. "I'm sorry I had you beamed into a waiting room in your night shirt."

"I was wearing nothing -- you had to give me your night shirt," she reminded him acerbically.

He grumbled a little, and stood up to get something from the replicator. "So what do you want for lunch?"


	67. Chapter 67

Jean-Luc arrived at his office one morning to find someone waiting in his adjutant's office. He was thinking about Deanna, now nearly nine months pregnant, still at home asleep as she now slept in later than he and kept an abbreviated schedule at the clinic. As he came in the door to the lieutenant's office, a man jumped out of one of the chairs along the wall to the right of the door.

"Admiral," he exclaimed.

The lieutenant came up out of her chair, strode around the end of her desk, and exclaimed, "Sir, please be seated. Admiral, this gentleman is Mr. Carmichael. He doesn't have an appointment."

Jean-Luc looked him up and down -- a man in a black suit in a modern style, with dark brown hair and matching eyes. "And you're here to see me about?"

"I would like to talk to you about representing you," the young man announced.

"Oh? In what way do I need representation?"

"I understand that you are being sued by a Mr. Offenhouse?"

Jean-Luc blinked. "Why?"

The man stared at him in disbelief. "You don't know?"

"When you rescue a man from certain death it does not tend to result in a lawsuit." Jean-Luc gestured at his adjutant. "See him out, Lieutenant."

He entered his office without another look at the man, and glanced out the broad windows at the cloudy sky. "Computer, Earl Grey, hot. Adjust the tint on the window to ten percent. How many new messages for me?" While he walked toward the far right corner of the room for his tea, the window became more transparent to allow more natural light into the room. 

"You have ten new messages," the computer announced in the high, clear feminine voice someone had selected for the Academy's system. "One message requires a retinal scan."

That sounded like what the man had been talking about; certified messages of an official nature required positive identification of the recipient. He sat down at his desk and let the scan happen, and read the complaint. And started to laugh, at the audacity of the man -- he'd decided to file a lawsuit for pain and suffering, related to being brought out of stasis -- as if it were anyone's fault but his own that he'd been put in a tube and sent into space. Jean-Luc forwarded the message to Quinn and requested advice. It was a new challenge -- just when he thought he had a predictable life.

"Computer, call home."

He sipped tea and waited for a moment. He knew Deanna was awake, and upset. 

"Jean-Luc," she said at last, her voice somewhat muffled.

"Are you all right?"

She gave a loopy giggle, which ended on a quickly-stifled sob. He knew she was crying again. She'd never been a morning person, and the further along in the pregnancy, the worse her mood swings got. "Of course."

"I left you something."

Another giggle -- he could picture her smile. "I found it. Thank you." She loved surprises, even if they were just a few flowers in a vase.

"If you have time come by my office before you head to the clinic."

"I can do my best. I really am happy, Jean-Luc." She had been waking up weepy for almost three weeks now, and the last couple of days had been the hardest. She would transition to guilt lately, and reassurance. Now they were into that final phase, and her voice sounded less tearful.

"You are when you can be. See you in a while." He knew, because they'd had that argument already, that she wouldn't let him stay home and help her through the morning tears, but at least she would compromise.

When the channel was closed, he turned with a will to the decimation of the latest wave of messages -- Quinn had already gotten back to him, with a short reassurance that he was sending over one of the best attorneys from the Judge Advocate General's office for him to consult with about the lawsuit. Another message was a short note from Beverly -- she wanted him to see if there might be an apartment available in his area, as she was currently in a place down the street from Command and now that Tasha was being released from intensive outpatient services they were able to find a place more to their liking. Since he was on good terms with the manager of the rentals in his neighborhood, she thought he would be able to put a good word in, perhaps get them further up the waiting list.

He deleted the messages from people wanting him to come speak for their events, had the computer send the form letter politely declining, and moved on to the last message, something from the builder that he and Robert had hired to build the small house on the field down the hill from the main house. He was flicking through pictures of what had been done so far and images of revised designs for some of the rooms and the yard when his adjutant alerted him that someone from the JAG office was there to see him.

Jean-Luc sat back stiffly in shock when Phillipa Louvois came into the office with a serious, determined look on her face. She stood for a moment as if waiting for a response. Meanwhile, Deanna responded to him with concern. He collected his wits and exhaled slowly, which reassured her and calmed her down as well. "I'm sorry to see you've drawn the short straw," he said.

Phillipa smiled, and the tension dissipated. "Actually when the admiral contacted our office, I asked for the assignment. As shocking as it sounds I had an idea of making amends."

"Have a seat. Would you care for some coffee while we discuss this idiotic lawsuit?"

She accepted, and seemed relieved settling in with a cup of sweetened black coffee. "Tell me about this Offenhouse," she said, raising the cup to her lips.

He provided a summary of how they had found the ship in space and how it came about that the people in the remaining pods were re-awakened. "Offenhouse was apparently a wealthy business executive in his time," Jean-Luc said. "From what little contact I had with him, I'd say he has a competitive nature and a skewed perspective on what he can do in this century, so he's falling back on what he would do in his own."

"So I need to do some research. Understand his culture a little better. Though on the face of things, I would say it's an open and shut -- he literally does not have a case and I'm astounded that there's an attorney out there that would take his case. Perhaps he thinks it's a challenge." Phillipa sipped her coffee and thought about it a little more. "I suppose you might have had crew who had more contact with this man?"

"Actually, yes. You could talk to Deanna about him. I could contact her, she's at home at the moment but she'd be happy to help."

"Okay," Phillipa exclaimed, smiling nervously. "So you're still with her and she's returned to Earth with you -- I had wondered."

"We're married and expecting our first child, actually."

"Oh - congratulations," she exclaimed. It seemed bemusing to her. "Are you enjoying your new position here?"

"To my surprise it's been more rewarding than expected."

A polite tone sounded from his desk. "Sir, your first appointment is here."

"That would be a cadet," he told Phillipa. "Have him wait for me for a few more minutes, Lieutenant."

"Aye sir." The tone sounded when she closed the channel.

"I'll go research this a little more -- would you like me to come back later today?"

"Let me talk to Deanna so she can meet with us -- I'll contact you for an appointment."

 

* * *

 

Deanna hated relying on analgesics but it was difficult without them. She took a dose as she left the apartment. On the deck outside the front door, she contacted the transporter at the Academy and asked for transport. Since the transporter room was two floors below the commandant's office, it was a short walk to the lift, a short walk from the lift, and as she reached the door in the corridor, it opened. Jean-Luc stepped out to meet her, put a hand on her shoulder, reassure himself she was all right.

She knew watching her get bigger and clumsier and struggle with all the aches and pains of having a child continued to alarm and frustrate him by turns. It was changing her original plan; she'd already told Beverly she wanted to simply transport out the baby and not go through labor at all. Even if she blocked him out of her mind so he couldn't go through all the pains of labor along with her, she didn't want to see how he would handle simply being present for it.

"The attorney is here," she half-asked.

"Yes -- it's someone you've already met. Phillipa Louvois."

She'd wondered what that whiff of anxiety and guilt and frustration had been about. "She's one of the good ones?"

"Yes, she's a very good attorney."

"Then that's all that matters, isn't it? Unless you would like another -- if you do, you should ask for someone else."

He turned, gesturing, and let her precede him into the office. She nodded at Melinda on the way through to his private office. He didn't respond to her statement with anything that led her to think his feelings were anything but personal, so she let the matter rest. "Captain Louvois," she greeted, holding out a hand.

The other woman stood to take her hand, smiling that forced professional smile of someone who wanted to hide her reaction. Deanna knew that her appearance had surprised the attorney. "Commander."

Jean-Luc had "her" chair ready in front of his desk, between two standard issue armless chairs. He had brought in one with arms and a lumbar roll, and as she lowered herself into it he tucked the cushion against her back without a thought. Louvois observed this with no small surprise. But she recovered herself and refocused on the task at hand.

"Phillipa has some questions about Offenhouse," he said, to nudge the conversation in the direction it should go.

 "What do you want to know?" Deanna smiled at the woman, though Andre took the opportunity to shift around and start some afternoon calisthenics. 

"I've done a little research since I spoke with the admiral this morning. Offenhouse returned to Earth and attempted to find work. However, he discovered that the financial world is quite different than he expected, and he was turned away repeatedly. I've spoken with his attorney -- the details of what happened aboard the _Enterprise_  as documented in your logs, and the captain's logs, differ from his account. Were you with him when the captain interacted with him each time?"

"I was, and I have an excellent memory. Would you like me to describe to you my interactions with him in detail?"

Phillipa held up a tricorder. "Better than that. I'd like to record your recollections."

Deanna let herself do more than remember -- she started to repeat word for word what had taken place, after reaching back to relive each conversation. She described some of Offenhouse's facial reactions and mannerisms as well. Occasionally, while she recounted, she grabbed the arms of her chair and repositioned herself.

As she finished describing the final encounter with Offenhouse, Deanna noticed Louvois' eyes wander down and stay there, widening slightly as she stared. The baby was doing what he did all day, every so often, moving around -- Deanna looked down and saw that a bump was visible through the thin material of the blue dress she wore. She chuckled and pushed back at the bump, and let him thump on her palm.

"That's all of it, Captain," Deanna said. "Any other questions?"

"What is your impression of Offenhouse as a psychologist?"

Deanna frowned. "You want me to diagnose him? I never assessed him. But he seems an arrogant man, perhaps bordering on narcissistic, which would make him driven to prove himself at great cost -- less practical, less likely to concede. Less interested in facts."

"It's a good thing we'll have a jury of our peers, and not his, I think," Louvois exclaimed. "Thank you, Commander. I'll be in touch, Admiral."

Deanna watched the attorney stand up and leave the room, as did Jean-Luc. "Are you nervous about this?"

"It's a frivolous lawsuit -- he's lost before he started. Milo contacted me -- has he made contact with you?"

Milo was one of the officers involved in the effort to build defensive strategies and technologies to be used against the Borg. "About the next meeting, you mean? I told him afternoons were better for me, and that I could only attend if there's a bathroom within easy reach. He said he has two children and completely understands that."

"Good. I hope we can get somewhere this time, Admiral Mack has a new handful of engineers -- I told him to contact Mr. Data. Consult with him."

"I think that will be incredibly helpful."

"Are you still playing chess with him?"

One of the things keeping her sane with the diminished work schedule and increasing isolation as she forced herself to rest per Beverly's recommendations was the ability to keep in touch with people -- she had an ongoing chess game on the coffee table at home, something Jean-Luc had brought home. A holographic board that connected remotely through the subspace network to someone's comm channel that allowed her to play games with her friends over time. She had three games going, one with Data, one with Tasha who was just getting into the game, and one with Randi and Will who were playing collaboratively.

"He just lost a game. We've started another." She shifted in the chair once more -- slid her hips to the left slightly. "I wonder what happened to the other two of the people we rescued? If I had taken the time to really think about it I probably could have guessed Offenhouse would attempt to go back to what he'd done before. I think the singer did the same. I wonder where Clare is? If she might have been able to find common ground with her descendants and make a home? I think I'll send her a message."

"What do you think will happen to Offenhouse when he loses this lawsuit?"

She considered that while wishing the baby would stop kicking in the same spot in the lower part of her belly. She wondered sometimes if there were bruises after one of his sessions. "I don't know, honestly. He might do something drastic." She thought about humans of the time, the level of violence in the society Offenhouse had been part of, the high suicide rates, and hoped that someone could convince Offenhouse to find another path.

Suddenly she felt something shift low in her belly -- something warm ran down her leg. "Oh," she gasped.

Jean-Luc came up from his chair and was around the desk in a heartbeat, but then he was feeling lost. "Should I call?" He leaned down, a hand on her back as he peered at her face.

"I think we should walk to Medical. I think that will be fine."

He hovered, all the way out the door - told his adjutant to cancel appointments for the day and went into the corridor, his arm lightly across her shoulders as if the pressure might hurt her. "I'm trying to take deep breaths, you should too," she commented as they went in the lift.

"It's too early," he exclaimed.

"The child is mostly human, you know. Beverly warned us that it could be any time between nine and ten months. In any case it may be that something's torn a little and it's leaking -- " She swayed against the wall of the lift as her muscles contracted unexpectedly. She had been experiencing false labor here and there for a few weeks. This was stronger and more sustained and a moan excaped her, despite her determination not to alarm him any more than he was already.

"Picard to Crusher," Jean-Luc snapped. "Computer, ground floor."

"Crusher here -- what's up, Jean-Luc?" came the response as the lift started to move.

"I think Deanna is in labor."

"Well, I'm at Starfleet Medical as usual, I'll be waiting for you."

Deanna let him navigate, let him guide her along out of the building and deal with people they met along the way -- he took the shortest route along the straight walkway that ran through the east end of the campus and into the main building at Command. It took a long time as she stopped every so often to wait through another contraction. They weren't regular yet, nor were they very close together, but she thought they were getting stronger. Jean-Luc was surprising her by being focused and not panicked. Eventually, they made it to the reception area in the main clinic -- she leaned against the back of one of the chairs, fortunately the nearest was unoccupied, and ignored the people scattered around the room who were observing and starting to comment.

"Deanna," Beverly's voice summoned, and she raised her head to look at their friend. "Come on. You'll be fine."

Deanna blinked at their friend, wearing her blue lab coat over her uniform and smiling at her calmly. She realized then how disconnected from her surroundings she was becoming; it was odd, how focused on her baby she was, how much the pain took over. She felt dizzy and not quite there, somehow. She turned to Jean-Luc waiting at her side -- holding her arm, she realized, as if she needed that support. "Okay."

Another contraction stopped her in the hall and both of them held her arms ready to offer support if she needed it. "Does it get worse?" Jean-Luc muttered.

"Oh, dear," Beverly said with a sigh. "There is a reason she wants me to use the fetal transporter, Jean-Luc. Surely she explained to you?"

"I want to go home," Deanna blurted.

"I'm not surprised. That seems to be what you want when you're in distress," Beverly said. "Let's have a look at how the baby's doing, then we'll get him on his way to born, and send the three of you home."

Deanna wanted it more than before, and started to turn back, but Jean-Luc caught her in his arms and turned her back toward the door Beverly was standing in. The little room had chairs in it, one of them familiar -- a birthing chair, with adjustable leg supports and back. The stark white room, too brightly lit, and the sterile gray chair with minimal padding were enough to shock her out of her detached state. She balked, pushed her feet against the floor even as Jean-Luc tried to guide her toward it.

"I can't," she blurted.

It brought Beverly around completely, from the cabinet she'd just opened. "Deanna?"

"I can't," Deanna whined.

"A moment," Jean-Luc said. Deanna didn't understand it until Beverly left the room. "You were fine until you got here. What's wrong?"

A sob was unfortunately timed -- this time, the contraction was enough to double her over, almost. Except she couldn't really bend forward, so ended up leaning on him and crying loudly, open-mouthed, gasping for air.

"Okay," he said softly. Patting her on the back, holding her against his shoulder, he turned her and backed her toward the chair. "Breathe."

"Home," Deanna whispered. He had always given her anything, why couldn't he just let her go back home? She thought about the bathtub, how good it would feel on her back right now, and started again toward the door. But he still had his arms around her and didn't let go.

"Deanna, listen," he murmured in her ear as he kissed it. "You need to sit down. You'll feel better in a minute. We can talk about this after Beverly helps you feel better, all right?"

She was able to focus for a moment on him with a little more clarity. For some reason, he was anxious but had a determination that reminded her how good he could be in a crisis, how much he could collect himself in a tense situation and guide a starship crew through it. He'd researched this -- he wasn't afraid.

"I'm not myself," she whispered. "Help me?"

"I wonder if this is the trauma? If it's -- " He let her grip his hand -- the next contraction was the worst yet, brought tears to her eyes and made her want to vomit. Before she knew it she did, on the front of her dress and his arm. "Beverly!"

The doctor had a nurse with her when she came back. A flood of warmth and wet gushed down Deanna's legs -- that was the rest of the amniotic fluid, so clearly, this was actually going to happen.

"We need her in the chair," Beverly said. "We need her exactly still, so we can use the fetal transporter without also removing some part of her with the baby. Givens, let's get ready for a baby. I need to run a full exam on her and the baby, we need the usual. Jean-Luc, can you help her into the chair?"

Deanna let him do it at last. The nurse moved her skirt up her legs and somehow got it tucked around her hips, draped a sheet across her lap, while Beverly moved a tray around and started working at a console to the left of them. Jean-Luc quietly asked her to breathe again, and she tried, but it was as though she'd lost touch with herself. His guess was likely correct; this anxiety that had her heart hammering and her mind floating adrift might be related to the experience of having an alien entity invade her body. She tried to relax but found the only way to do that was keep her focus on him, and the more she did so, the easier that became -- he could tell the connection between them was stronger and it reassured him, helped him be less concerned and more excited, because this was after all what they had been anticipating for months. It wasn't what they'd planned. Senna would arrive next week to be there for the birth, expecting as they all had for it to conform more to Betazoid timetables. But it was obviously not going to be on their schedule. Once she was calmer, Beverly was able to do the examination and align the fetal transporter without issue. As she started the transport the nurse administered injections that would stop labor and help her body recover. Within minutes, the contractions were diminishing and the nurse turned to help Beverly remove the placenta from the baby and clean him, check him over -- they exchanged information while Beverly scanned with the tricorder and the nurse wrapped Andre in a clean white blanket, talking about levels and organ function, and then the nurse handed the baby to Beverly who turned to place him in Deanna's arms. 

Deanna remotely registered that Beverly was grinning ear to ear and saying something congratulatory, while staring down at the warm bundle in her arms. Andre cried weakly and waved short, chubby arms, protesting the sudden change of environment.

"We'll be back in a bit," Beverly said, and the sound of the door opening and closing said they were alone.

Deanna finally looked up at Jean-Luc's face. He was standing there staring at the baby, feeling as overwhelmed as she and grinning. "Would you like to hold him?" 

It was a slow, anxiety-ridden transition, but once the baby was in his arms he was gone into the nirvana of the new father, thinking about nothing other than the tiny creature he held. Deanna let her head rest against the cushion behind her head, watching him smoothing the blanket back away from his son's face and touch the tiny cheek, and promptly fell asleep.

She woke somewhat as Beverly was saying, "It was still exhausting. Just because she didn't have an extended labor -- having a child is extremely emotional, I might have slept for several days straight when Wes was born. While he slept, anyway. Thank goodness newborns sleep a lot. It's stressful for them, too."

"You're sure she's all right? She didn't sound like herself earlier."

Deanna shook herself out of the heavy, weary place she'd fallen into, not liking how off and not herself she felt. At her slight movement and upon realizing she was awake, Jean-Luc was at her side at once, touching her face, peering into her eyes. She tried to stand up from the chair and failed, instead falling into his arms like a child. Once there she lost the will to move and let him support most of her weight. Her muscles were starting to ache, despite whatever she'd been given earlier. 

She let them maneuver her into another room, onto a biobed, and numbly she listened to Beverly tell a nurse to get another hypospray and explain to Jean-Luc that he needed to keep an eye on her, bring her back tomorrow for a check of her and the baby. As he asked for specific things to look out for, Deanna fell asleep again.

When she woke again, she was in a dimly-lit room. Her own bedroom, her own bed, and Jean-Luc was asleep next to her. Deanna spent a few moments feeling disoriented and waiting for that to stop. A panicked thought sprang up that it was just a dream -- somehow it was not real. But after a few minutes of feeling unreal she settled herself. The soft sheets Jean-Luc had brought home were familiar. The quiet home around her, the familiar patterns of starlight through the panes of the windows across the carpet, Jean-Luc's soft snore - then she heard the faint snuffle and sat up. He'd brought the crib into their bedroom, why wouldn't he? She slipped out of bed, her bare feet made no noise on the carpet as she went around the bed, and the baby didn't fuss when she picked him up. 

She stood holding him and crying for a while, feeling a great mix of emotions -- happiness and relief that he was healthy and she was finally done with being huge and having to urinate every five minutes of the day. A little sadness, that she no longer had her mother to enjoy this with her. And that Senna hadn't made it in time, but her cousin would arrive soon. She still felt weary, despite apparently having slept the day away.

Eventually, Jean-Luc woke as well. He rolled over, and his concern was immediate. "Everything all right?"

"Yes. I just didn't get a chance to hold him much earlier. I don't understand what happened, but I feel better now."

Jean-Luc sat up on the edge of the bed. She came to him, and leaned against him as she sat in the curve of his arm. "I think it was too sudden. Beverly said it might have been traumatizing in itself, that it brought up the memories of what happened before and put you in a dissociated state. How do you feel?"

"A little sore. And strange -- empty."

"I'm on leave until further notice. Marie and Robert are arriving in the morning, and Tasha already came by to hold the baby. You slept through the rest of the afternoon and evening." He was still concerned, and she didn't like that. But they would be seeing Beverly the next day, to follow up, and she would be coherent enough and awake enough to ask what was going on -- clearly she'd needed the rest and if there were really something wrong, she'd have been kept at Starfleet Medical overnight.

"He's a beautiful baby," she said, smiling down at their sleeping son.

"Yes. This is the happiest day of my life."

She giggled and nudged him with her shoulder. "It's all downhill from here?"

"Not at all. I'm sure you'll help me make it better yet."


	68. Chapter 68

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long delay. Computer issues, a bunch of work and a bout of seasonal "it's going around" type symptoms caused some delays - and then the internet broke for a while.

Jean-Luc went to the front door of the apartment and opened the door for Senna. "Hello," he exclaimed, standing back to let her in. She was holding her baby but was otherwise alone. She'd contacted him that morning as the transport ship docked, and he'd arranged for a couple of transporter jumps to get her to their doorstep with a minimum of walking for her.

Senna was very serious, gazing at him. "Is she asleep? I don't sense her."

"Yes, she's been sleeping most of the morning. Let me help you with your things," he exclaimed, spying the bag sitting on the porch at her feet. "We have a room for you -- the baby's room, but he's been sleeping in our room."

"You're very worried," she murmured, following him as he carried the bag down the hall.

"She's been sleeping most of the time. Dr. Crusher thinks she's depressed -- we've been through a lot since the last time we saw you. I think she might be traumatized."

Senna surveyed the bright room, decorated in blues and furnished with a single bed, a crib in the corner, a changing table and dresser, all in light wood grain. She deposited Russell, sleeping soundly from the lack of reaction, in the crib and turned to him. She was wearing white today, a high-collared style that flattered her figure -- one wouldn't guess she'd had a baby in the past year.

"May I see the baby?"

He nodded and turned to fetch him. Deanna had the baby on the bed with her. Both of them were asleep, and Jean-Luc picked up André, knowing he wouldn't necessarily wake up. Deanna did, however.

"Senna," she mumbled. "She's here?"

"Yes, I'm introducing her to André. You should finish waking up and join us."

She blinked at him blearily. "Okay."

Senna was smiling when he returned to the nursery and offered her the baby. "Such a sweet little one," she crooned, taking the baby eagerly. She kissed his smooth forehead and held him in her arms, glancing at Jean-Luc, smiling at him with the amusement and affection he always found so uncomfortable to behold. "I think you are correct, that she has been traumatized. What she has told me about her experiences before you left the ship sounded disturbing. I think that I can help her. You can watch the children for a while?"

"How long do you need?"

"Perhaps an hour. I will be in a trance with her. We should be left undisturbed."

"I should go get her."

"No, I've discussed it with her just now. I'll go to her."

 Jean-Luc took the baby back, glanced at Russell asleep in the crib, and went out to the living room to sit with the baby in his lap and wait. The past week had been a blur of visitors, doctor visits, and feedings. Beverly kept reassuring him whenever he expressed concern about every new sound the baby made. It helped that Tasha was more nervous about the baby than he was.

He sat watching his son's face as he gazed up at him, and imagined what he would look like in the future. The sparse hair on his head had been so dark that Jean-Luc had thought it would be black, but once dry it seemed to be a dark reddish-brown. He had his mother's eyes. Jean-Luc touched the round little cheek and smiled. "You know, I think I may have underestimated myself. You're not what I expected."

The computer politely announced an incoming call from Command. The calls came once a day, usually his adjutant telling him about important messages or keeping him apprised of what was going on.

 "Let's see who this is, shall we? Accept the call, computer."

"Admiral Picard," came the disembodied voice of Milo Stillman. "I'm sorry to bother you -- your adjutant informed me that your wife had the baby and you're both on leave. I wanted to let you know that the team is meeting in two days. Wondering if one or both you will be available to participate remotely?"

"I wouldn't have a problem with that. At the usual time?"

"Yes, sir. How is the baby? How's Deanna?"

"Both doing well -- it's been an adventure in body fluids, but I'm holding up."

Milo laughed at that. "Yep, my kids taught me a lot about tolerating and handling toxic waste. Wait til he's asking you for help on his math or begging for a puppy, that's fun too."

"It's a strange thing. The mundane things that become so important, when you have a child."

"Well, if you need a babysitter, my fifteen-year-old is already babysitting -- he's good with the little ones. We'll talk to you day after tomorrow. Stillman out."

Jean-Luc smiled at that thought. There were already several people insisting they could babysit. Tasha was first in line, despite her nervousness about holding André. "You have so many people wanting to take care of you. Enjoy it while you can."

He heard a cry, and then remembered Russell, in the nursery. Holding André against his chest, he hurried to see what was going on, and found the crib empty. He spent a few panicked moments staring at the crib, the blue carpet on the floor that was baby-less, and then he saw the ruffled skirting on the changing table move.

"Russell?"

The baby peered out from under the changing table and ducked back under the skirting. A giggle, and silence.

Sighing, Jean-Luc put André in the crib, then dropped to a knee to lift the skirting. "Come on, Russ, let's go."

Russell was nearly a year old now, and clearly had come a long way since he was a wiggling creature wrapped in a blanket. He sat looking out from the back corner of the hiding place he'd discovered and smiled around the object he was trying to chew on, a knob from something. Perhaps the chair in the corner. Jean-Luc had been putting it together and there were a few pieces still sitting on the floor.

"Give that to me. Come on."

Russell giggled again and kept gnawing.

Extricating the child involved more effort than he anticipated, he had to almost climb under the table with him. And Russell started to cry when he was relieved of his knob. But he didn't cry for long, when he was given one of the toys from the pile on the changing table. He chewed on the soft little dog and tolerated Jean-Luc's awkward manipulations as he attempted to find a more comfortable position in which to hold the bigger, stronger, more active child. He finally had Russell on a hip and calmer when Senna came in.

"He got out of the crib, didn't he?"

"Yes. How is she?"

Senna took her son from him and put Russell on her right hip with practiced ease. "She's getting coffee, I believe. I will let her speak for herself."

Jean-Luc picked up his son before leaving the room with Senna. André was starting to grunt and fuss, which usually meant he was hungry. And Deanna was waiting for them in the living area -- she was putting mugs on the table near the wide windows that showed a view of the canyon. She wore a gray robe that he recognized as his, and smiled at him as he approached with the baby.

"I'll get him a bottle," she said, turning to the replicator on the wall. Senna joined her, and asked for something in Betazoid -- soon they were seated around the table and Jean-Luc watched Senna shepherding her son as he sat in her lap eating bits of food from a bowl with his fingers. Deanna fed André from a bottle.

"What's wrong, Jean-Luc?" Deanna asked after a prolonged silence.

"Nothing. Feeling a little dislocated at times -- it still feels unreal."

Senna gave Deanna a look that suggested she understood. Deanna nodded thoughtfully. "You've changed a lot from who you were when you took command of the _Enterprise_. There have been a lot of moments where you've thought about things and felt the disbelief."

"You were single-minded and focused on your work, with very few interruptions," Senna said. "When you and Greg would see each other it was all you would talk about -- Starfleet and anything related to it. To the point that you started to feel out of place and ill at ease if someone tried to engage you in a discussion of anything else."

"True. I was never sure how to talk about anything else, though."

"And now you can talk about babies," Deanna said with an amused twist to her smile.

"We could teach you to talk about other things. You might be a well-rounded husband someday," Senna said, clearly teasing.

 "Senna," Deanna said softly.

Russell interrupted by twisting in his mother's lap and tugging at the front of her dress. "Excuse me," Senna said, rising with her son in her arms. She went back to the hall and they heard a door open and close.

"I'm sorry that I've been sleeping so much," Deanna said. "Senna helped me with the problem."

"I didn't realize Betazoids could do that for each other -- what was the problem?"

"As you thought, trauma, but it wasn't so much that she healed me -- Betazoids give each other the gift of perspective, when we connect with each other deeply."

"Oh," he blurted, remembering what Greg had said. "I think... you do that for me as well."

"I do?"

"I've had a lot of time to think -- while we were on vacation, and since I've been home with the baby. You agree with me that I've changed radically, I know. I think you balanced me more than you know."

She picked up André and held him to her chest. "You're discounting how much you've done. All the books you've read  Finding a therapist and working through your trauma -- you've been determined and supportive. I appreciate it so much."

"So are you going to be able to spend more time with us, instead of sleeping?"

Deanna patted their son's back gently. He lay against her shoulder and was clearly on his way to napping. "I will, yes. And at some point when the baby is asleep maybe I'll even stay awake long enough to enjoy your company more intimately than we have for a while."

"Oh. You're sure -- I thought...."

"Beverly said I'm recovered physically, thanks to the regenerator and medication. I feel better overall now that I'm more grounded -- another thing Senna did for me."

It had been a month or so since he'd done more than kiss her. The thought of being able to have sex again made him smile.

"I like this," Deanna said. "Remember when you were anxious about everything? You scowled at me if I tried to talk to you about sex."

That changed the nature of his smile -- he snorted thinking about it. "It really hasn't been so long, has it? A little more than a year to stop being a curmudgeon."

"You were so different, when we met. You were so abrupt." Deanna watched André with an expression that she reserved solely for their son. It was clear that having a child was entirely unique, bringing up feelings that hadn't existed before -- he thought he might be experiencing a little jealousy now and then, if she hadn't been sharing her emotions with him directly all the time now.

"Overcompensating. Trying not to be unhappy with my choices."

"You're saying you weren't like that before?"

"I was not so -- what's the word?"

"Obsessively focused on duty? Intense? Dismissive of anything but the task at hand?" Deanna rolled her eyes at his defensive reaction, despite its unspoken nature. "Jean-Luc. Your first officer walked on your bridge to report for duty and you didn't even look at him."

"We were in the middle of a situation engineered by Q," he exclaimed.

"And it felt as though your ability to control the situation was slipping out of your hands. So you were focused on getting it back, and let your anxiety take over."

Jean-Luc tried to glare at her, but ended up laughing at his attempt. "You know, I never thought I would enjoy losing arguments this much?"

"You aren't losing, you're simply not fighting. I love you too." 

Little hammering footsteps interrupted. Russell hurtled out to the table as fast as his stumpy little legs could carry him and stood with his hands on Jean-Luc's thigh, gazing up into his face, then held up his arms. As clueless as he could be about children, even Jean-Luc understood the universal gesture of 'pick me up.' Leaning slightly, he hauled the little boy into his lap. Russell made himself right at home, leaning against his 'uncle's' chest and putting a thumb and finger in his mouth. 

"Betazoid children have a good sense about people," Senna said as she returned to the table and sat down. "The girls were always trying to get your attention. I see Russ is doing the same."

"So much for my reputation as child-phobic. Young man, you are drooling on my shirt."

Russell smiled and kept sucking on his fingers while a little drool ran down his hand.

"I suspect André will not be an only child," Senna said quietly.

Deanna's sly smile forestalled a protest from him. Sighing, Jean-Luc put an arm around the little boy - he found that it wasn't as hard to give up the concept of personal space as he'd previously expected....

 

* * *

 

 

"I like what I'm seeing," Beverly said, setting aside the tricorder. She'd made a house call and sat with Deanna on the edge of the bed, as they'd retreated to the bedroom for privacy. "Your neurochemistry looks normal again. How are you feeling?"

"Good. Better all the time. André has been sleeping at night more than before." Deanna smiled at her friend -- everyone in the house was happy, even the baby, and it was easy to be happier herself as a result. After four days with Senna in the apartment, it was getting easier day to day. "You haven't said anything about how you and Tasha are doing in a long time. And I haven't asked. But how are you?"

That made it awkward, for a few minutes, as Beverly tried to find the words and felt an array of feelings that included the usual internal debate of someone not really wanting to put it to words. "We're in a rough place at the moment."

"I thought so. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Oh, I don't know," Beverly said with a sigh. 

"Is she going to one of the referrals I gave her?" Deanna didn't want to ask, but asking Beverly was preferable to asking Tasha, who had become more sensitive about talking to Deanna about anything to do with trauma, her relationship with Beverly, or emotions in general.

"I think it's why it's gotten this way. I just remember you telling me about poor Ensign Robards -- remember her?"

Robards had been one of the more sensitive sickbay staff, traumatized by an experience with a patient who'd lost a foot. "That therapy can be retraumatizing, or it can bring up a great deal of emotional turmoil that a client has been dissociating or numbing out of conscious thought?"

"I keep telling myself it will get better." Beverly had a resolute expression. "It's not fair to leave right now. I can't just move out. It's not really me she's struggling with, it's herself."

Deanna frowned. "Maybe you need someone to talk to. If you won't talk to your friends, I can give you a list of therapists."

"Okay," Beverly said, shocking her to the core. It must have shown in Deanna's face; Beverly dropped her gaze and felt humiliated. 

"I know how you feel about each other," Deanna said, taking her friend's hand briefly. "You're doing the right thing, both of you. It's just difficult right now."

"I just wonder sometimes how difficult it's supposed to be."

Deanna tilted her head. "That may not be the right question. I think the real one is whether we can manage the stress of the difficult things that happen in the course of relationships. My answer now is different than it was when I was younger."

"Mine is different maybe because I was married," Beverly said sadly. "I know how bad it can get being separated by vast distances. Being in the same living space day after day is the challenge, especially when she's coming home with... well."

"There's an end to it," Deanna said. "I'm doing much better. In spite of ignoring my own trauma to care for everyone else."

"I hope you're right. Let's go see if they still want to go." Beverly stood up and headed for the door. She'd worn a red and black pantsuit instead of her uniform, on the premise that they were going shopping. 

Tasha was on the couch holding André -- finally without anxiety. "He's smiling," she exclaimed, grinning up at Deanna as she approached. 

"I'm sure he's happy to see his favorite aunt," Deanna commented, not lecturing on the difference between a gassy baby and a real smile. "Are you going to be able to tear yourself away to go shopping with us after all?"

"Is Jean-Luc still babysitting?" Senna asked. She turned from the replicator with a glass of tea.

Jean-Luc was holding Russell in his lap with much more confidence than before. Sitting on the end of the couch and doing what Deanna had never expected to find Captain Picard doing -- holding a small stuffed monkey and engaging in the very simple play of a young child, bumping Russ' nose with the toy and mirroring his smile, while the baby laughed and clapped his hands. Leaps and bounds from the captain who practically ran from children and radiated discomfort when forced to be in the room with one.

"He'll be fine," Deanna said. "I'm ready to go whenever you are."

There was a slight delay as Tasha transferred the baby to his crib, which had been brought out from the nursery. They were on their way to the door and already talking about which stores to visit when the computer chimed politely, announcing another guest. Deanna opened the door and stood there in shock.

"Randi?"

Chaos in the hall -- Deanna, Beverly and Tasha greeted their friend with happy exclamations and hugs. Like them Randi wore civvies, a brilliant blue-striped outfit, and Deanna wondered if she were still in Starfleet. And for the moment shopping was forgotten. Beverly drew their friend into the living room, asking where Will was, where the ship was, and as Randi started to answer she saw the baby and she stopped talking to come coo at André.

"He's so beautiful," she exclaimed, leaning over the crib. Finally she glanced at Jean-Luc, still sitting on the end of the couch holding Russell. That set off another interruption. "Wait -- is that -- "

"Russell is Senna's son," Deanna put in gently. "He's babysitting him so we can go shopping."

"Is everything all right, Randi?" Jean-Luc asked.

"Of course," she said, standing back from the crib. "I guess you're all wondering why I'm here?"

"Yeah," Tasha said, leaning on the back of the couch. "You were on the _Enterprise_ \-- I was thinking that the ship was supposed to be somewhere else?"

"Well, there was a battle, and the warp engines sustained some damage that led to coming all the way back to Utopia Planitia, and so while Will is at Command being debriefed some of us are on leave. He said he wanted to come see you and I thought I'd come on ahead instead of waiting for him." Randi looked around at everyone. "Shopping for what?"

"Baby stuff, clothes, we might bring something home for Jean-Luc," Tasha said.

"Can't wait," Jean-Luc said to Russell, who squealed and laughed as he rolled off his 'uncle's lap.

Deanna wandered around to the end of the couch to smile down at them. "I think you'll be less sarcastic when we get back and you see what I have planned for tonight."

Jean-Luc stared up at her, thus missing the early warning signs that Russell was about to pounce. At the last second he turned, likely tipped off by her desire to warn him which was warning enough -- he caught the toddler before Russell could land on his stomach. Russell laughed as he was swung through the air and put on his feet on the floor.

"Are you coming with us, Randi?" Deanna started again for the door.

"I thought you'd never ask," she exclaimed.

They stepped outside on the deck, and Beverly called for transport to San Francisco proper. The transporter beam took them away and materialized them at a station near Pier 39, where most of the shops Beverly liked to frequent were located. Deanna hadn't gone with her since about seven months along in her pregnancy, when the bathroom visits had increased exponentially and her comfortable walking distances had halved. She listened to the others chatter about which store to visit first as they strolled down the sparsely-populated walk toward a vintage clothing store that Tasha favored. Senna walked with her and silently suggested that she find somewhere else to be, with both children, so Deanna could ensure privacy for her nervous husband. When Deanna had tried to interest him in sex the day before, he had remembered Senna being there and immediately been too anxious at the thought of having another Betazoid nearby potentially sensing it.

Senna, like her, followed the others into the first store and observed -- the first thing Tasha did, excitedly, was bring a couple of outfits over for Deanna to reassure her and encourage her to try them on. Beverly and Randi expressed approval and encouragement as well. Before long, they were all trying things.

Shopping lasted a few hours -- they spent time in a jewelry store and two more clothing stores, and Deanna came away with jewelry and a negligee in a bag. She mused at times as they sat at a coffee shop chatting that it was no wonder that Jean-Luc still sometimes felt that things were unreal -- it was hard to believe they were on Earth, when just a year ago the _Enterprise_ had launched and she'd been attempting to understand why the captain wasn't sleeping at night. Spending her days counseling officers and sitting on the bridge, beaming down for diplomatic efforts or sitting in staff meetings -- it all felt so far away now. Being at the Academy was different. The problems that cadets brought in were all mundane, and though trauma was still common the causes were not away missions gone awry, or watching someone be vaporized or stabbed or shot in some way. Although, there were aspects of their old life that still haunted her. In the meeting just three days ago the discussion had brought up memories of the Borg, as every meeting with Milo and the others did.

It was nice to be with people who didn't talk about the weighty decisions most at Command faced, the realities of Starfleet, the traumas of officers. But as usual, Deanna had difficulty feeling invested in the small talk. Senna sat quietly through most of the talk of the most interesting cities to visit on Earth as well.

"You're being so quiet," Beverly said at long last, eyeing Deanna across the table. "Something going on?"

Deanna smiled. "You know I'm not talkative as you are."

"She's always been serious," Tasha commented, shrugging a little. She more than any of them had changed drastically -- she had become much less guarded and more relaxed, and wore dresses often. She had started braiding or putting up her hair now that it was long enough.

"I think it's more that she's Betazoid," Beverly said. "Most of the Betazoids I've met have been on the quiet side. But I know you, you're being quieter than usual."

"Tired -- as I was for the first few months after Russell was born," Senna said. "She still naps to make up for losing sleep at night."

"How long are you staying, Senna?" Randi asked. She had a tall cold tea drink in hand and a smile. She was enjoying the time with them very much. That and her silence on whatever the ship had been through said a lot about how difficult the past months must have been, on the _Enterprise_.

"A month. I'm enjoying time with Deanna." Senna shot her a look. "Russell and André will be great friends."

"I hope we have more opportunities to spend time together -- it's too bad we're in the middle of this project. We would schedule a trip to Betazed at the end of the semester otherwise." Deanna hadn't mentioned that the project had to do with the Borg. It had been made very clear to them that the project was classified.

Randi pursed her lips and looked down at her lap. Something about her emotions intrigued Deanna. Beverly noticed her curious glance, and then everyone was noticing and looking at Randi so when she finally raised her head again everyone was watching her. Instead of feeling self conscious, she smiled.

"I'm just thinking -- hoping, that we'll all be able to get together more often, so I can say the same, that our sons will be great friends," Randi exclaimed.

"Are you really -- are you?" Beverly exclaimed. Now everyone was grinning.

Randi shrugged sheepishly. "Yes."

Tasha almost bounced in her chair. "I knew it," she crowed. "Congratulations!"

"I may be staying here," Randi said. "I'm not sure I can have a child on the ship. Not after everything that's happened."

"But -- " Tasha blinked and looked confused. "So is he going to...."

Randi shrugged again. "I don't know. It's still something we're discussing."

"There's an apartment available in our complex," Deanna said. "You can live up the hill from Beverly and Tasha."

Randi was almost in tears, she was so happy. "It's such a relief to have someone here. I kept thinking what if he can't get very much leave, what if he has to be on the ship, and I don't want to be alone."

Deanna thought about her mother sadly, and Senna silently sympathized. "Well, you won't be," Deanna told Randi with a smile. "No matter what Will has to do."

"That's right. We're family," Tasha exclaimed with more fervor than Deanna would have expected.

"We need to have a shower," Beverly said. She waved over the waiter, to get more coffee. 

And so the conversation was off -- another party to plan, another baby to suggest names for, and another reason to shop, which Deanna was beginning to suspect might be an addiction for Beverly. Eventually, Deanna suggested returning to rescue Jean-Luc from the children -- though as they materialized outside the front door, she sensed at once that there were guests inside, very familiar ones. She hurried in and the others followed her in curiosity, then excitement.

Deanna smiled and looked at Will, Data and Geordi, standing in the middle of the room -- Geordi was holding the baby and doing so a bit awkwardly, and all three were grinning at the group entering the room. "There you are," Deanna exclaimed, sweeping forward in a rush and taking the baby from Geordi. After cuddling him for a bit, she looked up at them. "Hello."

"It's nice to see you too," Geordi said sarcastically, but he was as amused as the others. "You look great."

"Thanks, Geordi." She stood on tiptoe to kiss Data on the cheek, and turned to Will, eyeing him. "You look tired."

"I _am_  tired," Will exclaimed. "Starfleet-induced insomnia."

"I don't like the beard," Deanna added, turning at last to greet her husband. Jean-Luc had been watching her expectantly. While Tasha and the others came forward to greet their friends, she kissed her husband's cheek and leaned on him for a moment.

"You're tired," he murmured.

"We should visit with our friends for a while." Deanna turned and gave Senna a look, across the room -- Russell had run to her and she held him in her arms. "Tomorrow. You should all go to Beverly's apartment, I had plans already and while I want to spend time with you I don't intend to postpone."

"Tasha, get Andre's bag," Senna ordered. "Beverly can bring Andre."

"I guess we know who's in charge," Will said, smirking. 

Deanna kissed her son and handed him over to Beverly, and watched everyone departing. She swung the little shopping bag still dangling from her fingers to hit Jean-Luc on the leg and jogged for the bedroom. 

"You're that determined," he said as he followed her down the hall. "We could have visited for a while."

"Tomorrow." She hadn't liked the mood Will was in. The three had obviously arrived moments before Deanna and the shopping expedition, so Will hadn't had the opportunity to tell Jean-Luc what was bothering him -- she didn't want to know yet what was going on that made Randi so anxious about having a baby. Likely it had something to do with the Borg, or the Romulans, but tomorrow was soon enough.

She went in the bathroom and put on the negligee she had found -- Jean-Luc was stepping out of his pants when she returned to the bedroom wearing the filmy red two-piece, and when he saw her he forgot about their friends, just as she expected he would. It really had been too long since they'd had time together alone.

 


	69. Chapter 69

Jean-Luc awakened slowly, a luxury of being on Earth and able to determine their own schedule -- particularly now that they were on leave. He remembered within minutes, the baby was with Senna at Beverly's place -- that explained the silence in the apartment. He rolled on his side in the soft sheets to look at his wife. Deanna was still asleep, her hair in a curly, unruly mass over her head.

He decided to leave her there and get himself coffee. From the bright sun streaming in all the windows in the living area, it was midmorning.

"There is an incoming transmission," the computer said politely. "Dr. Beverly Crusher."

Jean-Luc picked up the steaming mug of coffee. "Accepted."

"Jean-Luc," Beverly said warmly. "I wanted to let you know breakfast is ready."

He blinked, halting in mid-stride on his way back to the bedroom. "Breakfast?"

"Brunch, really. I made the coffee, Will's cooking, we're having eggs and -- "

"Beverly, did you say Will is cooking?"

Laughter, from several people, was audible distantly as she responded. "Yes, I did say that. He and Randi came back over this morning since we decided we wanted to have a little reunion today, and since you're on leave and your son is here -- he's doing great, by the way -- I thought I would let you know so you can bring Deanna."

"She's still asleep. We'll be along shortly, though. Maybe in time for lunch."

"All right, but it smells great. See you soon."

He took his coffee into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. The apartment was a little chilly for Deanna's taste, he knew, as he was naked and it felt cool to him. "Computer, turn up the temperature five degrees. Deanna?"

The bump in the covers moved, and she frowned at him. "What time is it?"

"Time to tell me you want me to come back to bed."

"Hm?" She sat up slowly, letting the covers drop into her lap and exposing her breasts. "You have coffee."

"You're hungry?" They hadn't had much to eat last night. He could tell, now that she was awake, that she was. "Apparently Will is up at Beverly's making brunch."

She frowned at that news. "I'd rather you replicated something and come back to bed. He's never been as good a cook as he thinks he is."

"As you wish. Have this coffee."

While he was back at the replicator in the other room, the computer announced, "Incoming transmission from Captain Philippa Louvois."

"Accepted." 

"Admiral," Philippa exclaimed. "I met with Mr. Offenhouse and his attorney this morning, as we discussed. I wanted to let you know that I was able to convince his attorney that the charges should be dropped. Hopefully when his attorney is done arguing with him he will drop them."

"That is excellent news -- thank you, Philippa. I'm especially appreciative that I didn't have to attend the meeting. We've been focused entirely on the baby, and the resulting ongoing stream of guests we've had since he was gone." There was a pause that he read as her being uncomfortable, or possibly hesitant. "Would you like to come by tomorrow and meet him?"

The pause lengthened. "I would like that," she replied at last. "I can bring by the minutes of the meeting as well, if you'd like to review them."

"Afternoon would be better. Fourteen hundred hours all right?"

"Yes. I'll see you then."

Once the channel was closed he took the bowl of fruit and yogurt out of the replicator and went to find Deanna. She was still in bed, but sitting up and smiling as he came around to her side of the bed. "Philippa may have done away with the charges. She convinced his attorney it was a bad idea."

"Wonderful," she said, glancing down into the bowl as he sat on the edge of the bed. "Breakfast?"

"The first course, anyway."

She wasn't as happy as she appeared. She ate as he fed her but as she felt less hungry and lost interest he put the bowl and spoon aside.

"What's wrong?"

"I miss my baby," she said, tearful now.

"We can go to Beverly's. Or I can go get him, or ask one of them to bring him home."

Rather than make that choice she leaned back against the pillows and gave him a soft-eyed smile, sliding over to the middle of the bed invitingly. He joined her, sliding under the sheet, and waited for her direction. She was being moody and he'd learned to wait and see rather than start asking questions. She settled against him, his arm went around her automatically, and she sighed quietly.

"I'm sorry I'm so moody, Jean-Luc. I know I haven't been myself sometimes."

"You felt normal to me last night."

She proved again how quickly she could switch moods by chuckling. "I felt wonderful last night."

"I wonder if you're feeling guilty about leaving André with Senna to feel wonderful, or if that was just me?"

"I believe we both do, a bit. But I also wanted to give you some time and attention. I don't want you to feel like I've forgotten you because André is here. And I missed sex."

"The sex was nice," he said mildly. It had been better than nice. Not the most exciting, but satisfying and reassuring, after weeks of restraint and concern about when they might have sex again.

"I never would have guessed you were such a master of understatement, when we met."

"And you surprised me in a number of ways as well. I enjoy making you laugh." It made him feel as happy as she, when he heard her laugh. She had smiled often while on duty, but he hadn't heard her really laugh until they were together. They had laughed together last night, as well as other expressions of emotions he now welcomed.

Thinking about last night led to feeling that way again, happy and starting to respond physically to her bare skin against his as she inched up to kiss him on the lips, hesitated, and kissed him again, this time with intense interest. She brushed her hand down his bare chest and it came to rest on his hip.

Jean-Luc rolled with her into the middle of the bed, as her arms went around him and she wriggled into a more receptive position to let him put his erection to good use. She laughed as he did so, and he suspected it was because she knew he would have very little stamina left, after last night's activity.

"I think we should put the babysitters on a regular schedule, so we have time for each other," she murmured.

"Okay."

"Maybe once a week?"

He sighed and rolled away from her, as once again, the mood had changed. "Maybe."

"I'm sorry," she said faintly. "I guess I'm still hormonal and moody."

"I'm informed that everything for a while will be different, and being patient is the order of the day. Perhaps we should be getting dressed and finishing breakfast, so we can go get our baby and spend time with our friends today."

Deanna lay silently next to him and it was obvious that she was surprised -- he rolled his head on the pillow and found that she was staring at him with an odd smile.

"What?" he exclaimed, with a mere hint of irritation.

"It's taken a long time, hasn't it, to get here?" She pushed herself up on an elbow, her hair spilling down in a curtain from her head over her left shoulder.

"Here?"

"Yes. You finally feel at home. You're sleeping at night, when the baby allows anyway. You're not anxious about failing in our relationship. You have a good relationship with your brother and his family. You have no performance anxiety about sex any more. And you want to go spend time with our friends."

Jean-Luc snorted at that and stared up at the ceiling again. He had no words -- but he felt her pride and happiness and added some of his own, until both of them were grinning and starting to laugh.

"This is the best day of my life," he exclaimed.

"You sound sure of that."

"Oh, yes. And while the rest of them may not always hit this level of happiness, I'm sure there will be plenty more wonderful days to come. And I have you to thank for all of them."

Deanna's sigh was followed by her rolling over and coming to rest on his chest, her hair in complete disarray, grinning and crying a little. "I was just thinking the same thing about you."

"Maybe we could stay here for a little longer, before we go to Beverly's," he murmured, touching her cheek.

She lowered herself to rest there with her cheek on his sternum, and he caressed her hair gently, smiling and closing his eyes. As usual, most of the important things that might have been said were shared without a word.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of this one, now I go back to finish Beverly's story and start Will's, filling in some of the pieces that didn't get covered in this one.


End file.
